I Thought I Knew Love
by whatabeautifulmess
Summary: Editor!Kurt, StreetMusician!Blaine AU. Kurt is a hard-working editor, whilst Blaine is a street musician in New York. They meet in ever more unusual circumstances, but can Blaine change all of Kurt's ideas about life and love? ABANDONED. I'm sorry guys, but I've been blocked with this for months and have no idea what to do any more.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This fic is based on a GIF set I found on Tumblr. I fell in love with it, and then my sister bullied me into writing. So, here we are._

_Disclaimer: I owe literally nothing about this. The characters aren't mine, the AU idea isn't mine. I don't even know who came up with it, to be honest; but I can send you guys a link to the GIFs if you be interested. The title is adapted from Feel Love by Michael Van London. It's the end credit song for Struck By Lightning - I thought it was appropriate._

* * *

><p>Kurt Hummel slips off his glasses and rubs his eyes hard. He should sleep more, he knows that. By all accounts, he should have stopped work hours ago and gone to bed, but anyone who knows Kurt could tell you that'd never happen; not when the new issue goes to print in precisely five hours and thirty-six minutes, if Kurt's clock is correct, and the idiot journalists (read best friends) he employees don't seem to understand the meaning of the word 'deadline'. He's been up since five this morning – yesterday morning, he corrects himself – and he's only just got every article in; even that required several threatening emails to some of the worst offenders. Some perverse part of his brain looks forward to this night every month, because it is the only time he gets to exercise the caustic, sarcastic part of his personality, the side of himself that is reined in ordinarily so that he can speak to strangers without being punched in the face. The only things more acerbically-worded than his emails to Santana Lopez, his primary music reviewer, are Santana's emails in reply.<p>

But as much as he might enjoy getting to be himself for once, Kurt can't deny that he's exhausted. The bright light from the screen of his laptop stings his eyes and he can feel himself dropping over his in-tray. He tries to make it out of the building and into a cab, but in the end he doesn't even make it out of his office. He gives up the idea of going home and pulls the mattress out of the cupboard, curling up and falling asleep on the floor beside his desk.

Again.

* * *

><p>Kurt's eyes flutter open as he hears the door to his office open and then close, the scrape of a mug being set on the desk, and a soft, expressive sigh.<p>

He groans as he sits up, all his joints aching. He always regrets spending the night here. There's another sigh as he stretches, his face crumpled in pain; and he shields his eyes to glance up into the worried face of his friend and assistant editor, Tina Cohen-Chang.

"Please tell me you didn't sleep here last night," she says, sitting down and handing Kurt the mug of coffee to prevent him from scrabbling around for it one-handed, half-blinded by the bright morning sun.

"Oh, no, Tina, I turned up this morning with a burning desire to _pretend_ that my spine feels like it's on fire. Of course I slept here – today's printing day."

Tina frowns. "I thought we'd spoken about this: you need to get stricter with them."

"I have," Kurt counters. "Everything's already in this month."

"Then why did you sleep here?" Tina asks. "Surely you could have gone home."

"I would have done, but Puck unfortunately thought that 3:00am was an acceptable substitute for 3:00pm, which was when I wanted his photos in, so I could check them against Mike's article. And you know I love nothing more than waiting around for photographs of scantily-clad female ballerinas to appear in my in-box."

Tina can't supress a snort at that. Kurt was lying a little when he said then he only gets to be sarcastic in emails: he is often wonderfully sarcastic around Tina and a handful of his other employees – the aforementioned Puck and Mike included – because he likes them. It's only strangers and people he can't stand to whom he is scrupulously polite.

Kurt grins, thinking that he's distracted Tina, but she catches him and frowns.

"I'm still not happy about you sleeping here, if you can call it sleeping," she says, lips pursed. "But I'll let it slide this once if you swear to follow these very specific instructions.

"Today, you will do _no _work. There's nothing for you to do anyway – Quinn and I can cope with any problems that crop up. So you're going to go out, have some decent coffee, maybe listen to some music – there's a bunch of street performers around at the moment, some of them are pretty good." She glares at Kurt when he doesn't say anything, and he nods quickly to show that he understands.

"Good. Then tonight, you're coming out with the rest of us. You're going to have a few drinks – maybe more than a few – and you are going to flirt with many boys. Tomorrow, you're not coming in before midday; and if you set foot in this building on Sunday I will make you regret it. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Good," Tina says. "Quinn will be helping me make sure you stick to that, and if you don't we'll phone your dad."

"You wouldn't…"

"Oh, I would," Tina assures him. "Or rather, Finn would. I think it'll have more weight coming from your concerned brother."

"When on earth did you become so diabolically evil?" Kurt asks. "In high school, you were shy and sweet."

"I blame your influence," Tina answers. "Now off you go." She gives him a little shove towards the door.

"Wait, no, I look like crap."

Tina laughs. "Kurt, trust me, you look gorgeous, just like always. I don't know how you do it, considering you got all of four hours sleep last night and you were sleeping on the floor, but you look perfectly fine." Kurt raises his eyebrows at her sceptically and she rolls her eyes. "I'm not lying, I swear. Now go!" She gives him one last push on the shoulder, and he stumbles out of his office for the first time in twenty-four hours.

* * *

><p>Sitting in a small café a couple of blocks away from the office, Kurt quietly has a crisis.<p>

He's not used to not being in control, you see. Actually, no, that isn't quite true: he's _used_ to not being in control, but he can't stand it. In high school, he was so far from being in control of anything (he was the only person out of the closet in his school in _Ohio_, after all; and even in glee club, which he adored, Rachel Berry – now Broadway star extraordinaire – regularly stole the spotlight) that he wasn't even aware that the concept of 'controlling your destiny' existed.

But when he started college, he discovered that there are total strangers who are completely willing to accept him, exactly as he is; and that there are boys who want him and are willing to be upfront about wanting him. Sure, he hasn't found many recently, but he knows that they're out there. This realisation encouraged Kurt to take the reins, and he's never really let go since. That's all very well in his personal life, but at work it often results in him spending the night on his office floor. In Quinn and Tina, he employs two very competent assistant editors, but he knows he doesn't let them earn their wages. He can't seem to step back and simply observe; so today, having been forced to take the back seat, he's at screaming pitch already, and it's only been an hour since Tina threw him out.

He drains him coffee cup (so much better than the brownish instant muck he gets at the office) and slips out into the street. Maybe he'll take Tina's advice, go and see one of the street performers he saw on the way here. Or maybe not one of _those_ performers, now he thinks about it – they'd been ropey at best. But a walk will help him clear his head, and he'll be able to find someone decent if he tries.

He wanders through the streets around the office just breathing deeply at first, allowing some of the tension in his shoulder to dissipate; but he becomes very bored very quickly – to describe this lot as 'ropey' is to be generous. He's just about to give up, to go and get more coffee, when he sees a man carrying guitar case who makes him stop dead.

He's not sure why he stops. At first, he thinks it might be because of the man's clothes, because, frankly, they should look foul – the jeans are fine, dark denim that's loose in some places and just tight enough in others (_and dear God, you should not be noticing things like that this guy is a random stranger and probably straight to boot; you shouldn't be thinking about how nice his arse is_); but he's teamed him with a bright pink shirt, checked with black, a _purple_ t-shirt and, inexplicably, neon pink sunglasses. It should look hideous, pink and purple never work together, no matter _what_ every seven-year-old girl in existence may think; but Kurt finds himself thinking that this man looks...cute. Hot, even. And his arse does look really nice.

The rest of him looks pretty nice too, now Kurt comes to look at him properly. He's a little shorter than Kurt is, and more stockily built. His biceps are defined - just enough to make them noticeable, but nothing over-the-top. (_And that is far too much detail to describe a probably-straight stranger with, stop now while you still can._) His skin is clear, the colour of toasted almonds, and there is a light shadow of stubble across his jaw. (_Kurt Hummel, since when have you thought stubble was sexy? This guys is a stranger and now he's looking right at you, abort, abort, ABORT_.) His hair is insanely curly in a way that would look ridiculous on anyone else, but Kurt can only think that it is adorable beyond belief. (_And now I give up,_ his brain screams at him.)

But for all that, Kurt still doesn't have a reason to stay; at least, not until a cloud floats across the sky to cover the sun, and the man pushes his sunglasses up onto the top of his head. And God, his eyes...the only adjective Kurt can think of to describe them is 'beautiful', as clichéd as that sounds, and it doesn't even really do them justice. They are warm, bright honey-brown, laced with flecks of clear, light green, and Kurt can't bring himself to look away.

Whilst Kurt has been studying him, the man has been staring right back at him, head cocked slightly to the side as if contemplating something important. In the meantime, a small crowd has built up around Kurt, chattering quietly as they wait for the man to start playing. he blinks and glances away from Kurt, a slight smile on his lips.

"All right, guys," he says, and Kurt sighs. His voice is musical even when he's only speaking, and it's deep enough for Kurt to imagine how it must reverberate through his chest if, say, he were to laugh. "Thanks for coming to see me today. My name's Blaine-" (Blaine. That's a nice name. Actually, it's perfect. He's obviously a Blaine) "- so how about we get started?"

The crowd calls its agreement and Blaine grins, swinging the strap on his guitar over his shoulders. "Okay, this is one of my favourite songs," he says. "Hope you enjoy it." Then he starts to sing, and the sound that comes out of his mouth makes Kurt gape. His voice is beyond belief - smooth and mellow like melted chocolate, sweet like strawberries, sharp like lemon. If a sound can embody sex, Blaine-the-street-musician's voice does. Kurt feels his knees go weak, and he nearly falls into the older couple standing next to him.

_Pull yourself together_, he thinks savagely. _Probably straight, remember?_ He gives himself a little shake and tries to concentrate on the music. Blaine is clearly as talented as a guitarist as he is a singer, because he copes easily with this acoustic version of Teenage Dream by Katy Perry. Kurt's a little shocked by Blaine's choice of song - very few men would be comfortable singing something by a female artist, at least in his experience - but it has to be said, Blaine does it well, singing confidentially about being thought pretty without any make-up on. He grins right at Kurt as he sings the chorus, eyes intent, as if unaware that it isn't exactly considered normal to preposition random strangers with sex through the medium of Katy Perry songs. Kurt's eyes widen slightly in alarm (yeah, he thinks Blaine is hot, but _woah_) and he can hear the chuckle in Blaine's voice as the song draws to a close.

The crowd bursts into applause and Kurt joins them half a beat late - he's still trying to process things, after all. Blaine bows, wearing a smile that makes Kurt quiver. But no; he needs to leave now if he's going to get home, shower, change and get back to the office in time to accompany Tina and the others on their night out. He turns his back on Blaine, who is preparing to sing again, and weaves his way through the mass of bodies that has accumulated around him. He glances back as he reaches the edge of the crowd, and finds Blaine looking at him too, his expression confused and ever so slightly sad. Kurt's not sure what to make of that, so he waves, just in case Blaine's sad that Kurt _specifically_ is leaving; then walks away along the street, trying to hail a cab.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Oh my goodness, guys, the reaction to this fic has been unbelieveable, I swear. I love each and every single person who has reviewed, favourited or alerted. And the reaction on Tumblr has been breath-taking. Many, many thanks to gleeddicted (go follow her) for doing more to promo this than I have._

_This chapter is shorter, only about half as long as the first; but it felt like the right place to stop. Chapter three is longer, I promise._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I don't own the idea. I do, however, own Blonde Robert from Arkansas, who you'll meet later on._

* * *

><p>There's one very good reason why Kurt rarely joins his employees on a night out: drunk people are boring and obnoxious when you're still sober; and Kurt is almost always sober. One particularly bad experience in high school, in which he has thrown up on the OCD-suffering Guidance Counsellor, had been enough to put him off alcohol for good. That's why he's still on his first strawberry daiquiri, despite Tina's instructions for him to get very drunk indeed and have sex with a random stranger. She hadn't put it quite like that, but Kurt knows what she meant.<p>

He runs his finger around the rim of his glass and looks over towards the group from _Glee, _who are monopolising floor space. It isn't a particularly big bar, and there are an awful lot of them. The bar-tender looks shell-shocked, as if he hasn't ever seen this many people in one space before.

Kurt wonders why on earth he decided to set up a magazine with his friends from high school. Aside from the fact that they gave his the idea of a magazine aimed specifically at kids in show choir, and that most of them have turned out to have hidden talents necessary for the production of such a magazine, he honestly doesn't know what he was thinking. He can't cope with all of them at once any more than he could as a teenager. He's only grateful that he doesn't have to put up with Rachel as well.

Tina and Quinn dance over to him, each taking up one of his arms in an iron grip – pincer movement.

"You're not drinking enough," Quinn tells him seriously as they haul him to his feet.

Tina nods, just as serious. "You promised me you would drink. And that you would flirt. You're not keeping your promises, Kurt."

"Tina, you know I don't drink much. And I'm fed up with flirting with guys who aren't interested, or worse, don't want anything more than a blowjob in the bathroom."

Tina appears to have thought of this, however. Kurt should have known, really: even when drunk, as she is now, she is ridiculously efficient.

"You need not worry, my dear Mr Hummel," she says, giggling. "I know for a fact that there are several gay men in this room that think you're cute and have ex-expreeesed…expressed an interest in more than just a blowjob…" Quinn giggles too, wiggling her eyebrows, and Kurt sighs. He really can't cope with them like this. They're edging towards the drunker side of tipsy, and with Quinn especially this is the worst stage. When she is full-out drunk, she becomes angry and irrational, but he's learnt to deal with that over the years. Before she gets to that point, however, she becomes far more talented at making and recognising innuendoes than Kurt has ever imagined possible.

"Oh, for goodness' sake…" he mutters.

"And _that_…is pre-cise-ly why you need to drink more," Tina says, slurring only slightly.

"She has a point, Hummel," says Lauren Zizes, coming up behind them. She takes his daiquiri out of his hand and replaces it with a glass of coke mixed with something that smells like an awful lot of vodka. "If we don't get you drunk, how are you going to get laid?"

Kurt sighs. He loves Lauren, truly he does: she's funny and sarcastic, not taking any crap from anyone.; at the same time, she's warm and compassionate, and damn good at her job. Even though she runs the tiny marketing department basically single-handed, she's boosted _Glee's_ circulation by about fifty per cent in only a year. But she doesn't seem to get that he wants more than just a one-night stand.

"Maybe I could meet someone that I like in the daytime, without the aid of alcohol, and engage in a meaningful relationship based on more than just sex?" he suggests. "A radical concept, I know, but it works for some people."

Lauren just looks for him. "And _have_ you met someone? 'Cause you've basically been a recluse since Dean dumped you."

"Oooh!" say Tina and Quinn. They're not helping.

"I have, actually," Kurt finds himself saying.

Hold on, what? What on earth is he saying? He must be drunker than he thought, because his mouth has run away from him. but he can't backtrack now – Tina, Quinn and Lauren are all looking at him expectantly.

"There was…a street musician, when I was out today…"

Lauren and Quinn say "Oooh!" again; Tina is positively vibrating with excitement. Kurt can tell without checking that she has drained another drink and crossed the line towards 'completely plastered' (she's a happy-girl drunk).

"I know who it is, I know who it is, I know who it is!" she says happily, jumping up and down on the balls of her feet. "It's that guy, Blaine, isn't it? I saw him yesterday."

"Um…yes?" Kurt hazards. This just became a lot more complicated. He'll actually have to make an effort with his lies now.

"Oh, he's cute. And he's gay."

"How do you know?" Kurt asks. He stopped trusting his gaydar a long time ago, after an embarrassing incident involving Sam Evans, a locker room shower cubical and bleached hair.

"Some girls tried to give him their numbers – quite a lot of girls, actually – and he _veeery_ politely told them that he doesn't bat for their team."

"Didn't you know that, Kurt?" Lauren asks, grinning at him evilly.

"No…" Kurt answers vaguely. Tina's revelation has made him re-evaluate Blaine's actions from this afternoon.

"So what did you do? Did you speak to him?" Lauren asks.

"No."

"So what did you _do_?"

"He sang Teenage Dream…"

And…?" Lauren presses.

Kurt bites his bottom lip. "He looked at me a lot. When he sang the chorus."

Tina and Quinn squeal, jumping up and down with their hands clasped (_so Quinn's a least one drink behind Tina_, Kurt thinks vaguely), but Lauren doesn't look impressed. Kurt doesn't really blame her: it's not very impressive.

"As nice as that sounds, Hummel, it's not like he proposed to you. I still suggest that you go and get up some Dutch courage and go talk to…" Lauren breaks off, scanning the bar briefly. "That guy over there. That way, you won't be rusty if you ever get with Dreamy McMusician Pants."

She shoves Kurt's drink back into his hand (he abandoned it on the bar top at the first opportunity) and pushes him towards a tall blonde man sitting by himself in the corner of the room. Kurt stutters in protest, but she ignores him and gives him one last push, setting him stumbling across the floor. As he trips towards him, drink in hand, Kurt swears he sees a pair of bright, hazel eyes peering at him through the hazy gloom; but then they are gone, leaving Kurt to make conversation with Blonde Robert from Arkansas about classic cars, country music and college football.


	3. Chapter 3

_Once again, the response to this has just blown me away. Thank you so so much just for even reading this._

_Updated as part of the Klaine week celebrations. Today is for AUs, so I thought it was appropriate :)_

_I still own nothing at all. Actually, no: I own Blonde Robert. Nothing else, though. And 55 bar is a real bar in New York, just off of 7th Avenue. I did my research :P_

* * *

><p>Kurt's first thought upon waking up is, oh my God, why did I drink so much last night?<p>

His second thought it, Hang on. This mattress is too hard. These sheets are too scratchy. Where the hell am I?

Then he opens his eyes and sees Blonde Robert from Arkansas laying next to him, and goes from wondering why he had so much to drink last night to wondering why he didn't drink more.

He doesn't do this sort of thing. Ever. Aside from the fact that he hasn't got this drunk since he was fifteen, he has never has a one-night stand in his life. Nothing has ever been just about sex; it has always led to a long-term relationship. Even Dean his ex, started off as a slightly tipsy flirtation that quickly became far more serious – they were together for three years, all in.

One glance at Blonde Robert, laying on his back with his mouth wide open, tonsils on display to all and sundry, has Kurt vowing that there will not be a repeat of that any time soon.

Kurt sighs and slumps back against the pillow. He regrets that movement pretty quickly, however: the pillow is thin and flat, and he hits his head on the rock-hard mattress. He wonders how on earth he managed to sleep last night – or this morning, technically, he supposes – and chalks it up to the combination of alcohol and sex.

How is he going to get out of here? He doesn't think he can face the idea of having breakfast with Blonde Robert, or, God forbid, having to spend the day with him – he strikes Kurt as the clingy type, who'll dig his claws in and never let go given half a chance.

Undeniably the easiest way out is to simply slip away without waking Robert. It certainly sounds attractive; but Kurt can't bring himself to do it. It would be so easy – slide silently from the bed, collect his clothes, dress in the living room, dart out of the door before Robert is any the wiser. But he can't do it; he slept with Robert, he ought to do him the kindness of explaining why it was a mistake.

Robert stirs next to him, rolling on his side. "Oh, God," he mutters, apparently having woken. "Oh my God…"

Kurt rolls over to face him. "You too?"

"Oh, God, I am so sorry," Robert says, eyes wide as he takes in Kurt looking back at him. "I didn't mean it like that, I swe-"

"I know what you meant," Kurt assures him. "I'm kind of freaking out too."

Robert sighs, sounding relieved. "I just don't do this. Not normally."

"Me neither."

"Not that it was…bad, or anything…"

"No!" Kurt says. "No, I mean, it was…really good, But…"

"But that was it," Robert supplies, a distinct expression of relief gracing his features. He isn't quite as good-looking in bright sunshine and without the aid of alcohol.

Kurt nods, propping himself up on one elbow. "Pretty much."

"Same here."

"Oh, thank God," Kurt breathes, pushing any feeling of having been insulted aside. "You know, I was just trying to work out how to tell you all this without hurting your feelings. I felt like a jerk, just sneaking out."

Robert chuckles. "I'm kind of glad you didn't, otherwise I would have felt like a jerk."

Kurt sits up and swings his legs out of the bed. "Well, now both of us can't stop feeling guilty," he says, starting to collect his clothes from the floor. "So…I'll just go now?"

"Uh…yeah, I guess. It was nice to meet you, Kurt."

"Nice to meet you too, Robert," Kurt says, pulling his shirt on. "Maybe I'll see you around?"

"Yeah, maybe."

"Okay, well…bye," Kurt says slowly, waving over his shoulder before slipping out of the room, through the apartment door, down the stairs and out into the street. Part of him is aware that that conversation should probably have been much more awkward than it was, but he's not going to complain. He achieved his goal in getting out of there without hurting Robert's feelings, and he now has a story to tell Lauren that will get her off his back.

As he throws out his arm to hail a cab back to his apartment, he can't help smiling. That could have been much worse, after all.

* * *

><p><em>From: Lauren<em>

Where were you last night? ;)

_To: Lauren_

Like you don't already know.

_From: Lauren_

Yeah, but I want you to say it.

_To: Lauren_

I'm not saying anything.

_From: Tina_

Kurt! Did you go home with that guy last night?

_To: Tina_

Oh, for God's sake, not you too!

_From: Tina_

What?

_To: Tina_

Lauren's bugging me about exactly that.

_From: Tina_

She says you did.

_To: Tina _

She doesn't know what she's talking about.

_From: Quinn_

Kurt, did you go home with that blonde guy? I turned around to look for you and you were gone.

_To: Lauren, Tina, Quinn_

This is insane! Yes, OK, I did sleep with him, but we both agreed it was a one-time thing. Happy?

_From: Quinn_

Yes.

_From: Tina_

Very. Though I would have preferred it to be Blaine. The sex, not the one night stand, nothing more thing.

_From: Lauren_

Guess so, Hummel.

_From: Santana_

Saw you got yourself some man-candy last night, Hummel. Kinky enough for ya?

_To: Santana_

Santana!

_From: Santana_

Just asking. Was it?

_To: Santana_

It was fine, thank you. But how did you know?

_From: Santana_

I used my eyes. If you'd used yours, you would have noticed someone else looking for you.

_To: Santana_

Who?

_From: Santana_

I don't know, some curly-haired hobbit.

To: Santana

O.O

* * *

><p>When Kurt enters the office at 10:02am, it is at a run. He vaguely registers that this may be the fastest he's ever moved. He certainly never ran this much in PE in high school, and very little could convince him to do so even now. But this is important; he <em>needs<em> to talk to Tina.

He makes a slight detour and snags Lauren and Quinn, and, after a moment's thought, Santana as well. She'll be able to explain better than Kurt could at the moment.

"Tina," he says breathlessly, skidding to a halt by her desk. "Tina, I need you."

"Kurt, what…?"

"After I left last night, there was a guy looking for me, and it sounds like it was Blaine."

Tina's eyes widen and she places a hand over her mouth. "My God, Kurt…how do you know?"

"Santana texted me," Kurt says, tilting his head towards the slim Latina girl in question.

"But she hasn't seen Blaine, how does she know it was him?" Quinn asks. She's always the one who comes up with the sensible questions to prevent a room from descending into hysteria.

"She described him to me," Kurt explains. "I'm fairly sure it's him." He jabs Santana with his elbow. "Tell her."

"Ouch?" Santana says, glaring at him. When she is met with no sympathy, only curious gazes, she sighs heavily. "He was kind of short, with dark, curly hair, and his eyes were about the same colour as Fabray's here." Kurt and Tina lean in towards Quinn, who looks bemused, and peer at her eyes before pulling back and nodding at each other. "He was pretty cute, actually: if I weren't a lesbian and he didn't set my gaydar screaming, I'd totally tap that."

Tina and Quinn stare at her; Kurt opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it again, having thought better of it; and Lauren just laughs, holding up her hand for a high-five.

"Okay," says Tina after a moment of silence. "That definitely sounds like Blaine, doesn't it, Kurt?" Kurt just nods, unable to speak around the lump in his throat. "But how did you know he was looking for Kurt, Santana?"

Santana rolls her eyes, as if it should be obvious. "He came and asked me if I knew, and I quote, 'the beautiful brunette man sitting in the corner with the blonde guy.'" She raises her eyebrows at Kurt. "He has it bad, Hummel. How many times have you met him?"

"Once."

She whistles long and low. "Jesus…"

"Uh, uh, uh, Lopez," Lauren says. "You can't just stop there. What did you tell him?"

"I said, yeah, he's my friend. I mentioned that you like yourself a tequila sunrise and the hobbit went to buy you a drink, but when he turned round you'd disappeared."

Heavy silence follows Santana's words. Kurt looks shell-shocked, as if he's been hit by a subway train. Then he explodes.

"Why on earth didn't you phone me? Oh my God, what am I going to do?" He can feel himself panicking, his heart rate speeding up. What if he's screwed this up already, before there even is a 'this'?

Tina grips his shoulder and looks up into his face. "Calm, please? You know what you need to do."

Kurt shakes his head, still on edge.

"You need to get outside, find him, and actually _talk_ to this time. Now go!"

* * *

><p>After combing the streets for an hour, Kurt is at breaking point. His feet ache from walking, and he's run out of places to look. New York is huge; Blaine could be anywhere. He could be in Brooklyn or Greenwich or Queens; in a café or a bar or curled up in front of NCIS at home. (Or perhaps he'd prefer to watch Ellen, or Project Runway – Kurt doesn't know, and that worries him slightly, that he can feel so drawn to someone he barely knows.)<p>

Kurt heaves a sigh and slumps back against the wall of a tiny, cream-coloured coffee shop. The plaster is cool against his back and he closes his eyes. In the split second that he is unaware, someone walks into his and trips over his feet.

His eyes snap open. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry!" he helps the man to his feet, then claps a hand over his mouth.

It's Blaine. Of course. Really, how could it be anyone else? It's like his life has decided to become a cheesy, made-for-TV movie.

"I've been looking for you everywhere," he blurts. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he flushes, wishing the ground would swallow him whole. Unfortunately, he's not that lucky.

"Really?" Blaine asks, looking adorably confused. He's smiling, though. Maybe this will go better than Kurt anticipates. "Why?"

Now, what to say? Blaine _had_ been looking for him last night. It probably wouldn't be _too_ odd for Kurt to tell him that he is looking for him because he wants to talk to him, kiss him…No. That would be a bit weird. And where's the mystery?

"I, uh…I wanted to hear you sing. I really enjoyed listening to you yesterday."

Blaine grins. "Oh, yeah! I noticed you in the crowd. You didn't stay, though." He looks a little disappointed, and Kurt is ninety-nine per cent certain it isn't his imagination.

"Yeah, well…" Kurt says casually, heart thumping. "I had to go get ready, I went out with my friends from work."

"I think I saw you," Blaine says. He looks calm, but Kurt notices his thumb flicking against his index finger. "You were down by 7th Avenue, right?"

Kurt nods, trying to ignore the fluttering in his stomach. "Yeah, Fifty-Five Bar on Christopher Street."

"It's nice in there," Blaine offers; and good God this suddenly got awkward. Kurt's trying desperately to find something to say when he is interrupted by Blaine: "I saw you with Blonde Robert."

"Is that how everyone knows him?" Kurt asks with a snort.

"Pretty much," Blaine says. "He's a regular and God is he dull."

"I have to agree. I feel bad, because he was really sweet, but alcohol was the only way I got through that conversation." Kurt doesn't ass that there was a lot more going on than just talking: that's over-sharing, no matter what Lauren and Santana might think.

Blaine opens his mouth to speak, but at that moment his phone rings, cutting him off. He digs it out of his pocket and peers at the screen. "Oh, I'm sorry, I have to go," he says, sounding genuinely apologetic. "What's your name, again?"

"I'm Kurt."

"Well, it was really nice to meet you, Kurt. I'm Blaine."

Kurt giggles (_shut up! You're not a sixteen-year-old girl!_). "I know, you said yesterday."

"Of course. Well, if you want to see me play again that much, I'll be on East Seventy-Fifth Street at lunchtime on Monday. You should come."

"That sounds nice." _God, way to be enthusiastic._

"I'll keep an eye out for you, then." Blaine smiles broadly, holding out his hand to Kurt, who shakes it. "See you later then, Kurt." Blaine waves over his shoulder as he disappears into the crowd, leaving Kurt alone at the side of the street, trying to work out what actually just happened.


	4. Chapter 4

_I still can't get over the response this fic has gotten. It's all a little mad. I appreciate every single review/alert/favourite with all my heart, and quite often sit and look at them for a while with a silly smile on my face. So thank you, truly._

_A note: it'll be pretty much a miracle if I get another chapter up before the end of May, thanks to my A levels. So I apologise, and I will be continuing this. Just when I don't have exams that will determine what university I can go to._

* * *

><p>"Okay, one last time, do we all know what we're doing?" Kurt supresses a sigh as he surveys the massed ranks of the staff of <em>Glee.<em> He loves these guys to pieces, but he pities every teacher some of them – Finn and Puck in particular – have ever had. They do good work, but he has to explain everything three or four times over, just to be sure they understand.

Everyone calls their agreement in chorus, but Kurt feels the need to check even so. "Just…_tell _me what you're doing, so I can be certain. Lauren, go."

Lauren rolls her eyes, looking insulted at being trusted so little. "I have a meeting with some dentists," she says, sounding bored.

"Denman Dental, not 'some dentists'," Kurt corrects her.

"They're dentists, aren't they?" she asks. "Anyway, they want to buy advertising space in the magazine in return for stocking it in their waiting rooms."

"Yeah, about that…either get a better deal or just say no," Kurt says, head tilted. "Teeth are important and all, but people do not want to hear about them in connection with show choir, no matter what Dr Carl Howell may think." Having moved up in the world, Dr Howell is no longer just a dentist in Ohio; rather, he is the face of a nation-wide campaign to improve oral hygiene amongst teenagers.

"Noted."

"Okay. Mike?"

"I'm interviewing Jesse St. James. Remind me why I have to do that again?"

"Because, out of all of us, you were the least hostile towards him during the whole St. Berry debacle. Apart from maybe Matt," Kurt adds, "but none of us know where he is anymore. Besides, Jesse is the coach of the choir that's won Nationals the past three years. We can't put off talking to him any longer."

Mike sighs heavily, but ultimately doesn't argue.

"Puck?"

"I have to go and take photos of that jerk," Puck says sourly.

"Try not to hit him, please?" Kurt implores. "Finn?"

"Job interviews," Finn answers. Kurt put him in charge of recruitment because his dopey step-brother has a genuine talent for leadership, and he can be very persuasive when he wants to be.

"Excellent. And there's a couple of boxes of stationery downstairs…do you think you could…?"

Finn nods. It's very convenient, having him around: he can deal with all the heavy lifting, because most of the people in the office just can't; and Mike and Puck, who can, are out more often than not.

"Thanks Finn. Santana?"

"The same thing I do every single month," Santana says, her voice dripping with only the vaguest hint of sarcasm. Kurt is quite proud that she restrained herself.

"…Fine. I'll let you off with that, since I don't normally have a problem with you. But don't miss the deadline. And that goes for all of you," Kurt warns. "If you do, you're paying the chiropractor's bills."

There is a smattering of grumbles from some of the people gathered, but Quinn levels a glare at them and they fall silent quickly. Kurt waits until everyone is quiet before continuing.

"As for the rest of you," he says, making a broad, all-encompassing gesture with his right hand, "nothing's changed since last month; and the other articles are freelance, so…get going. None of you are models; I don't pay you to stand around looking pretty. Or not."

Everyone laughs loudly, and the crowd begins to disperse, streams of people trickling out of the room towards desks and doors. Kurt turns to Tina and Quinn expectantly, eyebrows raised in an unspoken question.

"There're some bills and things you need to look through; and some articles from freelancers for the issue after next," Tina says with a little sigh. Kurt nods and begins to move towards his office, but Quinn stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

"However," she adds, "you're not going to so much as look at those papers until after lunch."

Kurt glances at the clock on the wall. "Quinn, it's only half eleven. I never eat this early."

"You can eat whenever you like," Quinn says snappishly, sounding impatient now. "What you're going to do is get down to East Seventy-Fifth like you promised."

Kurt scowls. "Why do I tell you two anything?"

"Because you love us very much?" Tina offers.

"You're lucky I do. Besides, it isn't lunch time."

"Kurt, you can probably assume that by lunchtime, he meant sometime between twelve and two," Quinn tells him. "And God knows how long it'll take you get down there at this time of day – the traffic'll be horrendous. So take two hours; you deserve a break. Heck, take longer if you need to." he ruins the soberness of her semi-lecture about his work habits by winking at him.

"Fine," Kurt says, narrowing his eyes at them both. "But you know I hate you, right?"

"No, you don't," Tina and Quinn both say brightly. "Now off you go, and try a proper conversation this time."

* * *

><p>Kurt arrives on East 75th Street at quarter past twelve, and it's only as he wanders up and down the pavement aimlessly that he realises that he doesn't know where on East 75th Blaine is going to be playing. Not the most auspicious start to the afternoon, it must be said.<p>

In the end, though, he doesn't have to look too hard. Blaine is conspicuous in his bright t-shirt and pink sunglasses, guitar in hand. He's already attracting some curious glances when Kurt wanders over, hovering nervously off to the side.

Now he's here, Kurt feels stupid. Sure, Blaine invited him, but it's a bit presumptuous of him to turn up here and expect Blaine to remember him. He floats just out of sight, unsure of what to do.

Blaine turns slightly and glimpses him. "Kurt!" he says, smiling brightly. "You came!"

"Of course I did," Kurt says, stepping closer. He can't stop himself smiling too; Blaine's grin is infectious. "How are you?"

"I'm fine. Can't complain, at least. You?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Kurt answers. "Work's busy, but there we go."

"What do you do? If you don't mind me asking," Blaine says, plucking at the strings on his guitar to check that they are in tune.

"I'm a magazine editor."

What magazine?" Blaine's eyes are intent, his forehead furrowed in concentration: he genuinely wants to know.

"Um, _Glee_?"

"Oh, I love that!" Blaine says enthusiastically. He reminds Kurt vividly of a puppy; it's endearing. "I wish there had been a magazine like that when I was a teenager in show choir."

Kurt isn't surprised that Blaine was in glee club in high school – performing is as natural for him as breathing is necessary to life.

"Well, I'm glad you like it. Thank you." Kurt truly is grateful for Blaine's praise, but this situation is strange for him. Having a gorgeous man whom he may or may not have a bit of a crush on compliment his magazine isn't something that ever figured in his teenage dreams of New York City.

"No, thank you," Blaine insists, his pre-performance preparations seeming to be complete. "My friends are going to be so jealous when I tell them I've met you."

Kurt chuckles awkwardly, eyes averted. "This is pretty surreal for me. Seriously, it's not that interesting."

Blaine just raises his eyebrows instead of arguing. "Whatever you say. So, any requests?"

"Really?" Kurt asks incredulously. Blaine nods. "Um, I don't really know…"

"What's your favourite song?" Blaine prompts him. "I can't do musical theatre, not with just this -" he gestures to his guitar "– but anything else. Come on – pick something."

"Uh…The Beatles? I don't mind, honestly."

"Hmmm…" Blaine cocks his head, thinking. "I reckon I can do something with that," he says, smiling. "Now, go stand over there with everyone else."

Kurt glances over his shoulder and sees that a crowd has gathered behind them. "Okay. But this had better not be embarrassing."

"Don't be silly," Blaine laughs. "Of course it will be."

Kurt groans and steps backwards into the crowd, a hand over his mouth to hide his smile. He's kind of fed up with his intestines being assaulted by butterflies every time he sees Blaine, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to see him.

"Afternoon, everyone," Blaine calls out with a wave. "I'm Blaine; it's nice to see you. This first song was…sort of requested by my friend Kurt here." He nods in Kurt's direction and every eye turns towards him, making Kurt blush.

"What do you mean, 'sort of'?" someone shouts from the back of the crowd.

Blaine chuckles. "He just told me 'The Beatles'. I think he'll like it, though." He grins and winks, then starts to sing: "Love, love me do; you know I love you…"

_Oh dear God in Heaven, _Kurt thinks. _What is he doing? _He _does_ love this song, and Blaine sings it just as well as he sang Teenage Dream last week; but…why? They barely know each other, after all; this song is…well, it isn't as inappropriate as Teenage Dream, Kurt'll give him that, but it could be considered a little much. The lyrics are straightforward enough, after all: _Someone to love, someone like you…_Does that mean that Blaine wants Kurt to love him? It seems unlikely, but the thought makes the butterflies in Kurt's stomach flap harder.

The song is a short one, though, and Blaine finishes it and moves on through Queen, Beyoncé and The Script before Kurt can give himself a headache by thinking too hard about Blaine's meaning.

As the last chord of the last song fades away, the crowd applauds politely and begins to disperse. A few people toss coins and notes into Blaine's open guitar case, but most trickle away without giving anything. Kurt frowns, seeing this, and carefully places fifty dollars in the case.

Blaine blinks at him. "So much? I can't accept that."

"Yes, you can," Kurt says, a hint of impatience colouring his tone. "I feel bad because hardly anyone gave you anything."

"That's just how it goes sometimes," Blaine says with a casual shrug. "I don't mind, I'm doing what I love."

"But do you get enough? I mean, you have to eat, too."

"Oh, no, I'm fine," Blaine says brightly. "I work some evenings in a little coffee shop round the corner. The salary's pretty good, especially because I work Sundays and then it's double pay."

"You sure?" Kurt asks. "I can't help worrying a little."

Blaine gives a little, dopey smile. "I'm not starving, Kurt, I promise."

Kurt frowns. "Even so, take the money," he insists. "If you want, you can take it as payment for last time too, seeing as I disappeared without giving you everything."

"…There's no point arguing with you, is there?"

"Nope."

"Well, then, thank you," Blaine says, managing to sound gracious. He pockets the money, and then lays his guitar down carefully in the now-empty case. "So…I'll see you around?"

"I hope so," Kurt says, smiling warmly. "It was nice getting to hear you perform again."

"I'm glad you liked it. Find me again, yeah?"

"I will," Kurt promises. He turns to walk away, preparing to wave over his shoulder, when Blaine calls out to stop him.

"Kurt! Could I…could I get your number?"

"Um…sure," Kurt says, a little startled. He swaps his phone for Blaine's and taps in his number whilst Blaine does the same, then they switch back.

"So…thanks," Blaine says. Kurt notices a tiny blush edging along his cheekbones.

"You're welcome. Thank you, too."

Blaine chuckles. "This is awkward now, isn't it?"

"Lil' bit."

Blaine pauses, looking conflicted for a moment.

"Would you like to get some coffee?"

If Kurt was startled before, he thinks he might actually fall over now. He remains outwardly calm, however, as he says yes, he would like that very much, and walks with Blaine down the street. He doesn't even think anyone notices that his legs have turned to jelly – a little progress, at least.

* * *

><p><em>So, for now farewell, darling readers. I hope you liked this chapter. Reviewers shall be rewarded with Nutella and rainbows, and possibly a pet unicorn of their very own.<em>

_Don't say I don't offer you incentives, now._


	5. Chapter 5

_Hello again, my lovelies!_

_Thank you for being patient, and thanks so much for all your good luck wishes. I've only had my Spanish and English Lit exams so far, but they went...well, I hope. Spanish was odd though: I had to write a report about a public pillow fight they had in Valencia to help people relieve stress o.O_

_Anyways, chapter five - because I can't listen to Strvinsky any more today without going mad. Thank you to Megan (warblingbeyond) for letting me use her old pen name (warblingaway) in this chapter._

* * *

><p>They stop outside the tiny, cream-painted coffee shop where Blaine had tripped over Kurt's feet and found his way back into Kurt's life. Blaine glances across at Kurt and sees that he has recognised where they are.<p>

"I really am sorry for walking into you like that," he says, looking contrite. But Kurt catches the glimmer in his eye.

"No, you're not."

"I am!" Blaine protests. "Well, I'm sorry for walking into you, because that could have hurt you. But…no, I'm not sorry really, because I got to talk to you again." He grins, unabashed, clearly unaware of the fact that Kurt's insides have now gone all wiggly. It feels a little bit like his intestines have turned into very energetic worms.

"You're doing wonders for my ego," Kurt says after a second's pause. "Feel free to continue." No amount of false nonchalance can hide his blush, however.

"How about some coffee instead?"

"I suppose it'll have to do," Kurt sighs, mock-afflicted. Blaine pokes his tongue out, his mercurial mood switching to 'childish', and pushes the door of the café – 'Warbling Away', according to the sign – open, the action setting the bell tinkling.

Kurt ducks under Blaine's arm and into the shop, inhaling the heady smell of coffee. "Oh…" he breathes, closing his eyes for a second. The café is warm and bright, painted a cheerful blue with pretty paintings hung on the walls. Kurt has never been anywhere that has felt so immediately homely.

"Is this where you work?" Kurt asks, looking back at Blaine.

"Yep," Blaine answers. "Do you want coffee?"

Kurt nods. "A grande non-fat mocha, please."

"You're very specific," Blaine comments, shoving the bills Kurt tries to give him back into his hand.

"I don't take my coffee lightly. And please let me pay for my own drink." Kurt frowns, holding out the money stubbornly. He's not quite sure why it's so important that Blaine doesn't pay for him – maybe because, if he did, it would seem too much like this is a date, and Kurt's confused enough as it is.

"Kurt!" Blaine whines. "You just gave me _fifty dollars_, to start with, and besides, I asked you to get a drink, I should pay."

Kurt decides that the only way to clarify things is to ask. "Blaine…is this a date?"

Blaine's eyes are a little too wide, but he answers calmly enough. "Do you want it to be?"

"Don't turn this back around to me; I asked _you_. Is this a date for _you_? You asked, after all."

"Well, considering I don't even know for certain if you're gay or straight or what, it'd be a bit much to presume that this is a date, wouldn't it?" Blaine folds his arms, pleased with his logic.

Kurt chuckles. "I'm very, very gay, Blaine. That okay?"

"More than," Blaine says, smiling. "And in that case, yes, this is a date. If you want, that is, I mean, I don't want to assume…" He trails off, looking at Kurt a little nervously.

"I guess I'm okay with that," Kurt says slowly, trying not to grin too widely. "But you're still not paying."

Blaine sighs dramatically, but he's definitely smiling now, broad and happy. Kurt finds himself staring at it, wanting to make Blaine smile more. "You are so stubborn. Fine, give me the money," Blaine says, holding out his hand to Kurt, who gives him a handful of dollar bills.

Blaine approaches the counter and examines the bell sitting there for a moment before deciding to ignore it. "Jeff!" he yells. "I know you're out there! How about you come and do some work?"

A blonde head pokes about the counter. Kurt stares at its owner, bemused, wondering why on earth he was sitting down there.

"Yes, Blaine?" the man – Jeff, one can only assume – says dryly. "Did you call?"

"Not at all," Blaine shoots back sarcastically. "But since you are here, do you think my companion and I could receive some libation? We are rather thirsty." His voice has taken on an odd twang, some accent Kurt can't quite place. His eyebrows knit themselves together as he watches Blaine's back, trying to work it out.

"Why, I'm quite certain that we can manage to rustle something up for you both," Jeff answers, using the same accent.

"Splendid. A grande non-fat mocha and a medium drip, then, please."

"Are you actually paying, or are you taking advantage of Wes' generosity again?" Jeff asks, his voice returned to normal. Or, at least, what Kurt assumes is normal; he can't really be certain, as he has heard Jeff say barely thirty words.

Kurt can't see his face, but judging by his tone, Blaine is outraged – or at least pretending to be. "When would I ever do that?" he asks, sounding hurt. "Besides, a gentleman always pays on a date, and doesn't take advantage of his very generous employee discount."

"Date?" Jeff raises his eyebrows and glances at Kurt. Something seems to click and his eyes widen in recognition. "Are you…?"

"Yes, this is Kurt," Blaine says quickly, as if wanting this moment over and done with as soon as possible. Thinking about the reactions of Tina, Quinn, Lauren and Santana, Kurt sympathises entirely.

"Kurt from the bar Kurt? Kurt who filled your space as Blonde Robert's next victim Kurt? 'Oh my God, he's so beautiful, I wish I could see him again' Kurt?"

Blaine's reaction could be described as mortified, but the adjective doesn't really have enough weight to be accurate. Blaine turns a startling shade of scarlet and glances back at Kurt before quickly returning his attention to Jeff. Even the back of his neck is bright red.

"Yes, that Kurt," he says, sounding like his teeth are gritted. His tone becomes more smug as he adds, "He's the editor of _Glee_ magazine."

Jeff's mouth drops open, forming a comical 'o'. "No way. You must be joking. That's not on, Blaine."

"I swear, I am not lying. Scout's honour," Blaine says, holding up three fingers.

"Blaine, we've known each other since we were five years old. I know for a fact that you were never a scout."

"You could just ask me," Kurt says, speaking up to rescue Blaine, who is floundering. He's a little bewildered by the pace and content of Blaine and Jeff's conversation as it is.

"Yes, thank you, Kurt. Go on, Jeff – ask him."

Jeff peers at Kurt over Blaine's shoulder. "Okay, Kurt, are you really the editor of _Glee?_ 'Cause I love that magazine."

"I am," Kurt answers. He smiles, but he's a little dazed. Popularity amongst teenagers is one thing, but a permanent and apparently extremely enthusiastic adult audience – well, that is more than he ever dreamt of. "I run it with some of my friends from high school. We were all in glee club together."

"Oh. My. God." To say that Jeff is impressed is something of an understatement. He turns away from Kurt and Blaine and calls, "Nick! Trent! Wes! You _have_ to come and meet Blaine's date!"

Three brown-haired men appear out of thin air. Kurt knows logically that they must have just been out of sight round the corner, in some back room or office, but it really does seem as if they were magicked into existence by Jeff's call.

"Blaine has a date?" one of them asks. "Please tell me it's not some weirdo like Robert from the bar."

"Oh, don't be mean," one of the others chastises. "I always thought he was quite nice."

"And that more than anything, Wesley, proves your heterosexuality beyond all doubt."

"Can we leave Robert, d'you think?" Jeff chimes in, perhaps seeing Kurt's raised eyebrows and Blaine burying his face in his hands. "This is Kurt. _That_ Kurt."

Three pairs of eyes widen simultaneously. "Oh," says the one named Wes, smirking a little. "I'm glad you two bumped into each other again – we've been getting sick of his moaning." He tilts his head towards Blaine, who groans, slumped against the counter.

Kurt flushes rosy pink. He has an idea that Blaine might like him (there's a wealth of evidence to support this assumption, after all), but hearing one of his friends say something like that is nice nonetheless.

"Um, hello? Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too, Kurt. I'm Wes, this is Trent -" he gestures to a plumpish man standing at the back of the group "- and this is Nick." He points to the man with dark hair standing next to Jeff. They both nod and smile, seeming genuinely glad to have met Kurt, though Nick's eyes glitter mischievously as he glances between Kurt and Blaine.

"Anyway, now we're all nice and acquainted, how about I tell you why I called you all out here?" Jeff says. Everyone apart from Kurt and Blaine glances at him eagerly, eyes bright. "Kurt is the editor of _Glee_ magazine," Jeff announces, sounding smug about knowing this before the others.

Kurt feels himself blush an even deeper shade of red than before as everyone turns to stare at him incredulously. Blaine still has his face pressed into the countertop.

"No way," Nick breathes.

"Oh, way," Jeff counters. "Ask him yourself."

"Are you…?"

"Yes," Kurt confirms. This is so surreal; he's beginning to think that Blaine's friends might all be a little bit mad.

"That is so cool." Wes looks impressed, and Nick and Trent nod in agreement. "We were all in show choir in high school, and we kind of miss it sometimes. Your magazine is like a trip down memory lane for us. Not to mention," Wes adds thoughtfully, finger denting his chin, "the girl who writes the music reviews is _hot_."

Kurt chuckles. "Santana, you mean? I'll be sure to let her know. You won't get anywhere, but she likes to keep up-to-date with these things."

"Boyfriend?" Wes asks, face falling.

"Girlfriend."

Wes groans and rolls his eyes. "Just my luck."

Kurt glances at the other men standing behind the counter. "Any of you guys want me to pass on the message?"

"No, thank you," Trent says, nose wrinkled slightly. "She's about as much our taste as we are hers."

I beat she is, Kurt think, glancing at Nick and Jeff, who are now standing much closer to each other than they were originally, and are both looking at each other out of the corner of their eye whilst missing the other doing exactly the same. "Okay, then, duly noted."

"Anyway…" Kurt glances round and sees that Blaine has recovered enough from his embarrassment to stand upright again. "If you've all finished giving Kurt the third degree, we're just going to go and sit over here whilst you make some coffee like I asked." He grips Kurt's arm lightly and steers him away to a table in the far corner.

"You paying, Anderson?" Wes calls out.

"Nope!" Blaine shoots back, pulling out a chair for Kurt.

"Yes he is," Jeff says, sotto voce, to Wes. "He said he wants to be a gentleman." The four men behind the counter laugh at that; Blaine chooses to ignore it.

"I'm so sorry about that," he says, sitting opposite Kurt, his face flushed.

"Don't worry about it, honestly. I mostly had no idea what you were talking about."

"Really?" Blaine cocks his head to one side. "Like what?"

"Like, what was up with you and Jeff's accents when you first started speaking?"

"Oh, that?" Blaine laughs, bright and happy. "It' silly, really. Jeff was born in England, you see. His parents moved here when he was tiny and obviously he doesn't usually have an accent, but when he was a teenage he would occasionally…acquire one, normally when he was mad about something. We just like to take the piss out of him."

Kurt raises his eyebrows. "That was an English accent?" he asks incredulously. "Really?"

"Don't be mean," Blaine says, pouting. "I never said it was _good_."

"Never said what was good?" Jeff asks, sliding two mugs of coffee onto the table, one each for Kurt and Blaine.

"None of your business," says Blaine sniffily, sipping from his mug.

Kurt takes pity on Jeff, who is pouting, bottom lip poking out. "Your English accents."

"What's wrong with my English accent?"

"It's kind of awful," Kurt says, never one to hold back. "But don't worry, Blaine's is worse."

Blaine glares, but there is no force behind it. Jeff shakes his head, looking disappointed in Kurt, but says to Blaine, "I like him. Don't screw it up this time."

"Why is everything my fault all of a sudden?"

"Maybe because you're an idiot?" Jeff calls over his shoulder as he walks away.

Kurt looks at Blaine, eyebrows raised. He doesn't say anything, but Blaine isn't stupid; he knows what Kurt is asking.

"According to all of my friends, all my previous break-ups were my fault," he explains. "It's a point of some contention."

"I can sympathise. Whilst the break up isn't usually my fault, my friends do insist that I constantly pick guys who seem nice but are actually jerks, and date them until everything literally crashes down around my ears. The girls moan that they're the ones who have to pick up the pieces, so they've taken to intimidating every guy I date." Kurt takes a long sip of his coffee, savouring the taste of a decent mocha. "But I'll spare you the gory details."

"I think we both have a bit too much baggage to share it all now," Blaine reasons, and Kurt nods in agreement. They smile a little nervously and mutually move onto other, more neutral topics of conversation. Over another two cups of coffee (one of which Kurt insists on paying for), they exhaust colleges, music, musicals and how much they hate Ohio. It's a pleasant surprise to discover than Blaine is from Westerville, about a two-hour drive from Lima; and that the only tie they both have to the state is their family.

Kurt checks his watch at half-past three and blinks, shocked at how late it's gotten. "I should get going," he says reluctantly.

"Really?" Blaine asks, his face falling.

"Yeah. Everyone will be wondering where I've gotten to."

"But I thought you were in charge."

"Only technically," Kurt says wryly. "Everyone knows Tina and Quinn, my assistant editors, really run the ship. I'd be a complete mess without them."

Blaine chuckles softly. "That's kind of adorable." Kurt flushes and looks down, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mea-"

"It's fine," Kurt says quietly, and smile forming along with the deepening red on his cheeks. "I really need to go, though."

"Okay. Can I…can I see you again?"

"I'd like that. A lot. Call me sometime," Kurt says. He feels like he should pull a pen out of his pocket and scribble his number down on a napkin, cheesy though it is, but there wouldn't really be much point, as Blaine already has his number. He almost does it anyway, so he can see Blaine smile and tuck the napkin into his pocket, but he stops himself – he doesn't want to seem like a complete weirdo (though, honestly, Blaine's friends are plenty weird enough for anyone; Blaine could probably handle Kurt's crazy, limited as it is).

"Thanks you, Kurt" Blaine says. "I had a really nice time." There is an awkward pause where they try to decide how they should say goodbye. Do they shake hands? It seems too impersonal, but even a kiss on the cheek feels a little too much. In the end, Blaine opens his arms, inviting Kurt to step forward, which he does, wrapping his arms around Blaine in turn. They cling to each other for a long moment, until one of the men behind the counter coughs and they break apart.

"Um…bye."

"Yeah. Bye."

Kurt smiles and waves goodbye to Blaine and all of his friends before pushing open the door of Warbling Away and stepping out into the street.

Goddamn, Blaine is a good hugger.

* * *

><p><em>Long(ish) chapter today. I hope you enjoyed it; and please leave a review - they give me the warm fuzzles, each and every one :)<em>


	6. Chapter 6

_This chapter just hasn't been co-operating today; but it's done now, so yay. And you are all going to love me next chapter. Just trust me. Not only is it long, but good stuff happens._

_I have worked out that this fic will be 10 chapters in total, perhaps with an epilogue if you guys persuade me to write one. I also have ideas for some one-shots in this 'verse; if you want to see them, or have other ideas, review and let me know :)_

_I've just realised I've not disclaimed any of the music I've mentioned/used in this fic either. This is me disclaiming them and Glee._

* * *

><p><em><strong>To: Quinn<strong>_

_I'm on my way back now. Sorry I was gone so long._

_**From: Quinn**_

_Oh, no worries. I said take as long as you need, didn't I? Four hours is *nothing*._

_**To: Quinn**_

_Why do I get the feeling that everyone is peering over your shoulder, wanting you to ask me what happened?_

_**From: Santana**_

_Because that's what we're *doing*._

_**To: Santana**_

_Wonderful._

_**To: Quinn**_

_Just ask already. I feel sure you're all dying to know._

_**From: Quinn**_

_If you insist. What happened?_

_**To: Quinn**_

_I listened to him play, he asked for my number and then he took me for coffee at the caf__é__ where he works._

_**To: Quinn**_

_What's the damage?_

_**From Quinn**_

_Tina squealed a little, Lauren actually fist-pumped and Santana said things I don't really want to repeat._

_**To: Quinn**_

_I think I can use my imagination. And it's really not that big a deal._

_**From: Quinn**_

_But you haven't been into anyone since Dean broke up with you. Three months ago._

_**To: Quinn**_

_What about Blonde Robert?_

_**From: Quinn**_

_Like that counted. You were just drunk. And you already liked Blaine._

_**To: Quinn**_

…_Shut up._

_**From: Quinn**_

_Just because I'm right?_

_**To: Quinn**_

_I'll see you when I get back, OK? Put the theorising on hold until then._

* * *

><p>Kurt walks towards his office cautiously. No one he passes asks him anything; they just smile, maybe say hello. Then again, Quinn, Tina, Santana and Lauren are nowhere to be found. Kurt knows they'll be waiting for him, and he half-considers dashing back out, or perhaps going to talk to someone else about nothing very important. Brittany, maybe: it'd be a distraction, at least.<p>

But a little part of him does want to share this with them. He wants to be able to gush with them about Blaine, like he had when Mike _finally_ proposed to Tina, or Puck got his act together and asked Lauren out again, aiming for a proper, functional, grown-up relationship this time around. He wants to share this with them because they're his friends and he loves them, despite the fact that they drive him crazy sometimes.

He sighs and pushes open the door to his office, walking in to find them all – as expected – crowded round his desk, waiting for him.

"How did I know you'd all be here?" he asks, sighing heavily. "You're like vultures." He looks at them all. "I suppose you want to know what happened, don't you?"

Quinn and Tina wave their hands dismissively, saying that they won't force him to do anything. Lauren shrugs, unable to hide her curiosity. Santana rolls her eyes at them.

"Well, I want to know," she says, "and I'm not going to pussyfoot around. Spill it, Hummel."

"Santana!" Tina cries. "I thought we were being nice!"

"Well, you can't expect Satan to agree to that," Kurt says, smiling fondly at Santana, who pokes her tongue out at him. "But really, I don't mind. I'll tell you."

Quinn and Tina grin; Santana and Lauren gesture impatiently for him to continue.

Kurt rolls his eyes as he begins to describe his afternoon. "Once I found him, he asked me to request a song," he says slowly, remembering everything that happened. "I didn't really know what to say, so I just told him The Beatles."

"What song did he pick?" Tina asks eagerly.

"Love Me Do." Kurt glances down, fiddling with the sleeve of his jumper and trying not to smile too much. Tina giggles, stuffing her fist into her mouth.

"Damn, Hummel," Santana asks, "why are you not all up on that?"

"Because I've just met him? Because I don't know if he likes me?"

"Oh, don't be silly," Quinn says briskly. "Why would he pick that song, out of The Beatles' entire back catalogue, if he doesn't like you?" Kurt frowns, uncertain, as Tina, Lauren and Santana nod in agreement with Quinn. "What else did he sing?"

"Somebody to Love by Queen, Crazy in Love by Beyoncé and For the First Time by The Script."

Four pairs of eyebrows shoot up. "And you don't know if he likes you," Lauren mutters. "He couldn't be more obvious if he tried."

"...Okay,_ maybe,_" Kurt says, because even though he thought the same thing at the time, he can't help but second guess himself. This sort of thing doesn't happen to him; that's not how it works. He gets boys he meets in the bar or guys his friends know. He doesn't get a handsome stranger and a budding romance that wouldn't be out of place in a Disney film.

"Maybe, my arse," Lauren says, forthright as ever.

Tina shushes her and Quinn gestures for him to continue. "Carry on Kurt; what happened next?"

"We were talking. Arguing, a little bit, because he wouldn't take the money I gave him. Stupid, really," he says, rolling his eyes. "Then he asked for my number, so I gave it to him; but after that it got a bit awkward. He kind of looked like he wanted to say something, but didn't know how to."

Santana looks at him hard. "He asked you out, didn't he?"

Damn, she's good, Kurt thinks. He waits for the other three girls to calm down a little but before he replies.

"Not...exactly. He asked me to go and get coffee, and we went to the coffee shop he works in - his friend owns it. I met all his friends, and they're so nice. Weird, but really nice."

"Enough about his friends," Quinn says impatiently, "what about_ Blaine_?"

Kurt can't stop his smile widening. "He's...he's amazing," he says softly. "He says he's a big fan of the magazine and he's from Ohio too. He was in show choir when he was in high school and...we just have so much in common, you know? It's so easy to talk to him." He glance up at the girls. "What?"

"Sappy much?" Santana says. She's smiling, though, looking genuinely pleased for him.

"Hush, you," he says. "I have to listen to you and Britt go on and on about your sex life; the least you can do is not tease when I share considerably less personal information."

"Hear, hear," Lauren murmurs. Santana glares.

"We're really pleased for you, Kurt," Tina says, ignoring Lauren and Santana's scrap. "We want to meet him now, though."

Quinn smiles a little evilly and nods. "Definitely."

"Maybe," Kurt counters. "I don't want to terrify him by subjecting him to all your crazy this soon." He reaches across the space between them and hugs each of them in turn. "Now shoo. Don't you all have jobs and stuff?" He grins as they scowl playfully at him and troop out, leaving Kurt to put into action the plan that has been forming in the back of his mind since he left Warbling Away.

He sits down at his desk and pulls up the subscriptions list. He's halfway through typing in Blaine and his friends' names when he realises that he doesn't know any of their surnames; then he wonders why it took him so long to notice and sighs at how distracted he is. He taps in the rest of Trent's name and then quickly googles the address of Wes' café, before pulling his phone out of his pocket and texting Blaine.

**_To: Blaine_**

_Hey, what's your surname? And Wes, Nick, Jeff and Trent's? - Kurt_

**_From: Blaine_**

_Anderson. And Montgomery, Duval, Sterling and Nixon. Why? - Blaine_

**_To: Blaine_**

_That's a surprise. Just...keep an eye out for some post in about a week._

**_From: Blaine_**

_?_

**_To: Blaine_**

_Hush, you. And thanks._

**_From: Blaine_**

_You're welcome. Hey, you busy Friday night?_

**_To: Blaine_**

_No, why?_

**_From: Blaine_**

_I'm playing at 55 Bar on Friday and I wondered if you wanted to come._

**_To: Blaine_**

_That sounds really nice. I'd like that._

**_From: Blaine_**

_Cool. Bring your friends; I'd like to meet them. I'm on about 8pm._

**_To: Blaine_**

_OK, 8pm. See you then x_

Kurt deliberates long and hard over that kiss, wondering whether or not it's too forward. He gives himself a shake and presses 'send' before he can chicken out. It's worth it when he gets Blaine's reply: _Looking forward to it x._

Kurt restrains himself from dancing in his seat and pokes his head round the door.

"Tina," he calls, "are you busy on Friday?"

* * *

><p>Kurt opens the door to Mercedes at seven o'clock precisely. He immediately flings his arms around her and gathers her close to him in a tight hug. "I've missed you so much," he says, rocking from side to side. "It sucks that Chicago is so far away from New York."<p>

"I know, I know," Mercedes says, stepping inside Kurt's flat and setting her bags on the floor by the door. "But it just fits me so much better, the musical scene in Chicago. And at least I don't have to fight for parts with Rachel anymore." She laughs and so does Kurt, pulling her into the apartment and sitting her down on the sofa.

"One minute," he says, disappearing into the kitchen. He returns a few moments later clutching two spoons and a large tub of low-fat frozen yoghurt.

"It's like you read my mind," Mercedes says with a grin. She grabs a spoon as Kurt sits down and faces her, scooping out a spoonful from the tub and putting it in her mouth. "Now come on, I want all the gossip. Everything since Christmas."

Kurt swallows his own mouthful, thinking. "Um...Mike and Tina are engaged now," he says, "but Tina told you that, right?" Mercedes nods, gesturing with one hand for him to continue. "Okay...Puck and Lauren are giving it another go. It's working pretty well," he adds, as Mercedes raises her eyebrows incredulously. "Puck's grown up some since high school."

"I'll take your word for it."

"You do that. Otherwise, Santana and Britt are still disgustingly loved up. Finn and Rachel definitely _aren't_ - I don't even know if they can work through it this time; it might be a permanent deal-breaker." Kurt frowns, remembering the latest argument. That was a month ago now, and Finn and Rachel still haven't spoken. Normally they only last through a week of the silent treatment, tops. That's what makes Kurt think that this might be the last straw.

Mercedes sighs. "It's nothing new; they've been like this for years. But enough about everyone else - what about you? How are you without Dean?"

"I'm fine, _honestly,_" Kurt says, rolling his eyes but pleased with her concern. "It's been months, after all."

"Tina said you've been...withdrawn. I think that's the word she used."

"Of course she did." Kurt scowls at his knees, making a mental note to casually bring this up to Tina and make her feel guilty for ratting him out to Mercedes.

"Hey, you," Mercedes says, seeming to read his mind. "Don't make her feel bad, will you? She was just worried about you."

Kurt's expression softens as he nods. "I know."

"She, uh...she also mentioned that you've met someone."

Oh, for goodness' sake. "Yes. I have. Just recently."

"Well, why haven't you told me already?" Mercedes asks, the sound almost exploding from her.

"Because," Kurt replies, restraining himself from just launching straight into the story like he wants to, "a) I knew you were coming down today and I wanted to tell you in person; and b) nothing significant happened until today."

"Well, okay, fine," Mercedes says. "But you better spill everything now. I want all the deets."

"Okay, okay, all right," Kurt says. He scoops up another spoonful of frozen yoghurt and settles back against the arm rest to tell the whole story. "Well, his name's Blaine..."

* * *

><p><em>I hope you liked that chapter. Please leave a review - every time you do, Kurt and Blaine are allowed to stand one centimetre closer to each other next season. It's a worthwhile cause...<em>

_Oh, and regarding Mercedes and Finchel - this chapter was written about three months ago, actually, long before Mercedes decided what she's doing with her life or the latest Finchel drama. It's all just headcanon in here._

_Much love,_

_Erin x_


	7. Chapter 7

_God, guys, I'm so sorry this took so long. It just took me forever to type up. But, on the plus side, it's over 6000 words :)_

_You will love me by the end of the chapter, I promise. You might hate me somewhere in between, but by the end, you'll love me. Just...have faith?_

* * *

><p>Kurt is already sat at the kitchen table, sipping from a mug, when Mercedes stumbles in the next morning, blinking blearily.<p>

"What time is it?" she asks, stifling a yawn with one hand.

"Quarter to nine."

"Ugh. Why am I up?"

"I wouldn't know," Kurt says mildly, watching Mercedes over the top of his mug, the warm ceramic pressed against his nose.

"Your coffee machine is too loud," Mercedes grumbles, glaring at it where it is sat in the corner. "Why are _you_ up?"

"Because I have to go to work and, unlike you, my job requires me to be up before midday."

"You know I hate early mornings, Kurt. High school and college were bad enough."

Kurt laughs, careful to keep it pitched low and quiet to spare Mercedes' head. "I must agree with you there," he says, setting his mug down and standing up to pour Mercedes her own cup of coffee once the machine in the corner stops its whirring. He slides it across the table towards her and she grabs at it gratefully, taking a long gulp and sighing contentedly as she slips into a chair opposite Kurt.

"So," he says, steepling his slender fingers and looking at her, "what are your plans for your week's holiday?"

"Today and tomorrow are reserved for some serious sight-seeing, and tomorrow night I'm seeing a show; Thursday I'm going out for lunch; and I'm spending Friday with Rachel."

"Who are you having lunch with?" Kurt asks, his head tilted to one side as he tries to read Mercedes' expression.

She's silent for a moment, seeming unwilling to answer. Kurt waits patiently, not wanting to rush her. Eventually, she opens her mouth, swallows loudly, and whispers, "Sam."

"Sam Evans?" Kurt asks, one eyebrow raised. Mercedes nods. "Oh, 'Cedes…You know what happened last time you tried dating him."

"It crashed and burned, yes, Kurt, I _know_," Mercedes snaps, sounding tired, as if she's heard this speech before. She probably has, to be honest. "I just…I really like him, okay? I think I'm in love with him. He heard I was gonna be in New York, so he called me and asked to meet up. Kurt…" She pauses briefly, running her fingers through her hair. "I really want another chance with Sam, okay? Last time it didn't get a chance to work properly."

Kurt leans across the table and gives Mercedes the least awkward hug that he can manage. "Okay. It's okay. I'll be here, no matter what, all right? I really hope it works out for you, 'Cedes; you deserve it."

"Thank you, Kurt," Mercedes says, a little sniffle in her voice.

"Ugh, look at us!" Kurt says, wiping his eyes. "I do not have an excuse to be this emotional."

Mercedes laughs weakly, hiccoughing a little.

"I hope it works out with Sam, Mercedes, I really do," Kurt says, pulling back from their hug and looking at his friend intently. "But if it doesn't, it'll be okay. You have to promise me something."

"What?"

"On Friday night, Blaine's playing at this bar just off Seventh Avenue and he asked me to go. I meant to ask you last night but I forgot. You're coming with me, though, right? At the very least, it'll distract you from a day spent with Rachel."

Mercedes chuckles. "Okay, that sounds fun."

"You have to promise me, Mercedes. Whatever happens, you're coming with me on Friday," Kurt insists.

"Okay, okay, I promise!"

"Thank you," Kurt says. "Now, how about you go back to sleep, I go to work, and I'll see you tonight?"

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

><p>The week at work absolutely drags for Kurt. He is busy, up to his metaphorical eyeballs in paperwork and stupid questions, but hard work doesn't seem to make the time go any faster. He means every word on Tuesday when he tells Tina emphatically that it was the longest day in the history of forever; he ignores her laughter and refuses to take it back when he says precisely the same thing the next day. On Thursday, purely to stop himself going stir-crazy, he decides to take charge of settling in Joshua, the new intern who was interviewed by Finn on Monday. He seems like a nice kid (kid-! He's only two years younger than Kurt is!), friendly and quick to learn, if a little quiet. Kurt guides Joshua through everything he could conceivably be asked to do, which includes a detailed account of how to work the coffee machine.<p>

They are sitting down to lunch together, and Kurt has finally gotten Joshua to open up and talk about himself. He explains that he went to NYU for English and has always wanted to be a journalist. _Glee _is perfect for him because he's musical too, as is his whole family – his mum and dad met at an audition for the first clarinet position in the Boston Philharmonia (neither of them got it); Joshua himself plays the cello; and his older sister Lucy is currently playing the lead in some off-Broadway musical about dog walkers in Central Park.

Kurt is just thinking that Finn did a good job in picking Joshua (he didn't meet the other potential applicant, but he read the letter he sent and he sounds like an arrogant jerk) when his phone rings shrilly, cutting Joshua off mid-sentence. Kurt shrugs apologetically and holds up a finger as he pulls his phone out and checks the caller ID: Mercedes. Kurt feels his stomach sink as he remembers that today is Mercedes' lunch date with Sam, and he answers the call apprehensively.

"Mercedes? What's the matter?"

The only answer he gets is a choked-off sob, and that makes Kurt really start to worry.

"'Cedes? Come on, please talk to me. You're okay, aren't you?"

Mercedes sobs louder on the other end of the connection and gasps wetly once or twice before wailing, "He's engaged!"

"I'm sorry, what?" Kurt can't believe what he's hearing.

"Sam! He's…he's engaged, Kurt. He's getting married in June and he just announced it, like it wouldn't mean anything to me; he wants us to be _friends_!"

"Okay. Okay, Mercedes, where are you?"

"The Starbucks on Eighth Avenue," Mercedes says, hiccoughing slightly.

"All right, I'll come and get you. Don't go anywhere. It'll be all right, 'Cedes, I promise."

Mercedes lets out a soft, weak, "Thank you" and hangs up. Kurt tucks his phone into his pocket again.

"Joshua," he says, turning to the quiet intern, who hasn't moved a muscle throughout Kurt's phone call with Mercedes, "I'm really sorry, but I have to go. We'll catch up tomorrow, okay?" Joshua nods and confirms that that's fine, seeming to have realised that something important is going on; Kurt is grateful for his tact. He leaves Joshua with Quinn and Tina for the afternoon (because the only other people in the office are Puck and Brittany and…no. Just no) and dashes out of the building as fast as is humanly possible, jumping into a cab he hails and praying that the traffic is decent for once.

* * *

><p>It is easy enough to find Mercedes once Kurt reaches the Starbucks. She's sitting in the corner of the room, her eyes puffy, when Kurt walks over to her; no one is paying her any attention apart from a little girl with her blonde hair pulled back into pigtails, who looks at Mercedes worriedly and tugs on the hem of her mother's skirt. Her mother is on the phone, however, and ignores her daughter, pulling her skirt from the girl's grip.<p>

"Mercedes?" Kurt says when he reaches his friend. She looks up at him, her eyes sparkling with tears, and he immediately gathers her close in a hug. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry." He pulls back and smoothes one hand over her hair. "Okay. It's going to be okay. We're going to go home and you're going to talk to me and cry about it; then we're going to watch Project Runway and eat a shit-load of ice cream, all right? Full-fat."

This has the desired effect, making Mercedes laugh weakly, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"You would do that for me?"

"Of course I would. You're one of my best friends, remember? Don't tell Rachel," Kurt says, dropping his voice to a whisper as if Rachel were there with them, "but you're my _best_ friend."

Mercedes laughs again, a wet-sounding hiccough interrupting it, and she allows Kurt to help her to her feet, lead her outside and take her back to his apartment.

* * *

><p>"I just don't understand why he asked me out to lunch just so that he could tell me he's getting married," Mercedes says, the sound a little muffled as she licks her spoon clean.<p>

Kurt is torn between reacting instinctively and laying into Sam as viciously as possible, and being more neutral and keeping his criticisms for when Mercedes is calmer and more likely to agree than start crying again. As she continues speaking, he realises that he doesn't need to make that decision; he just needs to let her talk.

"I mean, he was so casual about it! Like I didn't mean anything to him and he shouldn't mean anything to me anymore." Mercedes sighs heavily and scowls as she swallows another mouthful of ice cream. "I just wanted us to have a proper chance."

"I know you did, boo," Kurt says. "But he doesn't deserve you, not if he can't see how amazing you are." He is a little hesitant, but he has to say it.

Mercedes licks at her spoon and slowly lets a smile cross her face. It is a tiny thing, nothing like her usual bright grin, but it is better than her sobbing in Kurt's arms.

"He doesn't, does he?" she says softly.

"No, no he does not," Kurt says, quick to encourage this confidence. "So, you remember what I said on Tuesday?"

"No…?"

"You're coming out with all of us on Friday. More to the point, you're going to flirt with all the guys who hit on you – because trust me, there will be a lot. Hopefully, that should prove to you that you're far too amazing for some who doesn't appreciate the brilliance that is Mercedes Jones."

"Okay, okay, I'll come. But it's only because I promised."

"That'll do, I suppose. Now, how about you put the TV on? I just need to send a text."

Mercedes nods and switches on the television, flicking through the channels, as Kurt pads out to his bedroom and rummages amongst the papers on his bedside table for his phone.

_**To: Blaine**_

_Are your friends coming on Friday night?_

_**From: Blaine**_

_Yeah, I think so._

_**To: Blaine**_

_Wes?_

_**From: Blaine**_

_Again, I believe so. Why?_

_**To: Blaine**_

_Ask the hard questions, why don't you :P_

_**To: Blaine**_

_My friend Mercedes just had her heart broken. She needs to have some fun and see that she's beautiful._

_**From: Blaine**_

_I'm sorry :( But…where does Wes fit in?_

_**To: Blaine**_

_I want there to be one straight guy there who we didn't go to high school with and who I know isn't a psychopath._

_**From: Blaine**_

_Haha! OK, well, I'll make sure he's there. See you on Friday xx_

_**To: Blaine**_

_Thank you. And I'm looking forward to it xx_

Kurt wanders back into the living room to find Mercedes chuckling over an episode of some inane comedy. She looks up as he walks in, seeming much more content, and notices the slightly dopey smile on his face.

"Who were you texting?"

A tiny giggle bursts from between Kurt's lips and his grin gets wider, making Mercedes gasp in realisation.

"It was Blaine, wasn't it?" she says. "You were supposed to be entertaining me, and instead you were off flirting with your musician-slash-barista."

Kurt blushes a little, a deep rose-pink creeping along his cheekbones. "He's not _my_ anything," he insists. "And besides, we weren't even really flirting. He just sent me a text with two kisses."

"Oooh!" Mercedes properly smiles for the first time in hours. "Look at you and lover boy, gettin' all cosy."

"Hey, I was asking questions relating to you getting a little something on Friday night!"

"Boo, you don't need to get all defensive. I'm happy for you."

"You sure?"

"Of course I am," Mercedes says. "You deserve to be happy after Dean was such a jerk. Now, come on - watch…whatever this is with me. I could use the company."

"Okay," Kurt says, slipping onto the sofa and snuggling against Mercedes' side. "But he's not my…lover, or anything like that. He's just a guy I know."

"Of_ course_ he is…"

* * *

><p>"Oh, for goodness' sake, Kurt!"<p>

"W-what?" Kurt shakes his head a little and blinks up at Quinn, who is standing over him, hands on her hips and her green-flecked eyes boring deep into his.

"Just go home already, would you?"

"What? No, I can't, I have work to do," Kurt protests.

"Well, you're not doing it here: you've been staring at the corner of the ceiling for the past ten minutes and I can almost see you mentally rifling through every item of clothing you own."

"Not _every_ item…"

"Irrelevant." Quinn waves an idle hand. "Just go home, please? Go home and actually rifle through your wardrobe – you're freaking Josh out."

"What do you mean?"

"He called me because apparently you hadn't moved in quarter of an hour and he got worried."

"Oh." Kurt glances out at Joshua, perched behind the desk he's been assigned – close enough to Kurt, Quinn and Tina that he has a safety net should he need it, but far enough away that he is still independent; it is by far the best way to get a feel for his work, after all. Joshua raises his hand and waves at Kurt, who waves and smiles back. "Well, that was nice."

"Sure was."

"He seems like a sweet guy."

"He is," Quinn says. "He's sweet enough to worry that you might be having a seizure when actually you're just thinking about your date."

"It's not a date," Kurt says, with the air of someone who has had to say this several times already and anticipates having to so several more, despite the fact that he's _not_ entirely certain that it isn't a date.

"Of course it's not. That's why you're stressing about what to wear so much. Look," Quinn says, "just go home. Tina and I can cover things from here. You need to take a step back sometimes."

"Okay, fine," Kurt says reluctantly. "I'll go."

Quinn smirks, holding out a hand to pull him to his feet before pushing him gently towards the door.

"Oh, go already," she teases as he stalls, dragging his feet.

"All right, all right, I'm going," he says, poking his tongue out at her. "Do me a favour, though?"

"Sure. What?"

"Get Joshua to come along tonight. I have a feeling he needs a night out even more than I do."

* * *

><p>By the time Mercedes lets herself into Kurt's apartment at five that evening, all of Kurt's clothes are strewn around his bedroom and he is sat on the edge of his bed, completely bewildered. This is unusual: ordinarily, Kurt takes immaculate care of his very expensive clothes. Today, that doesn't really seem to matter – he's far too distracted to worry about creases.<p>

"Mercedes," he wails, "help. Please."

She wanders into his room, then takes a step backwards over the threshold again in shock. "What the hell, Kurt?"

"I don't know what to wear tonight."

"But you always know what to wear."

"Not today." Kurt sighs, pressing the knuckle of his index finger into his forehead between his eyebrows. "I don't know, maybe I'm overthinking it, but everything looks weird on me. Help me?"

"Of course. Good job I worked out what I'm wearing last night."

She steps into the room again and begins to poke through pile of jeans draped over the chair in the corner.

"Pick your favourites," she says, holding them out to Kurt. He looks uncertain, but pulls out a slim, grey pair.

Mercedes' eyebrows shoot up. "That's the pair that are so tight you can barely move in them, aren't they?"

"Possibly…"

"You tryin' to make a point, boo?"

"Please tell me you didn't mean that the way I think you meant it," Kurt groans. Mercedes just laughs and rolls her eyes.

"If you can't recognise an innuendo when it's staring you in the face, that's not my fault," she says. "Now…it's cold out, but it'll be probably be quite warm inside so…shirt and waistcoat?"

"Of course. See, this is why I need you – I just can't think like that at the moment."

Mercedes stalks across the room, searching for the right piece. She eventually extracts it from the bedside table and hands it to Kurt. The shirt is deep blue, the material soft but the lines crisp. Kurt breathes a soft "Thank you" and tugs off his jumper, pulling on the shirt. He turns to Mercedes as he buttons it, head cocked to one side.

"Which waistcoat?" he asks.

Mercedes pulls out a light grey one from where it lies across Kurt's pillow.

"Are you sure?"

"I got you this far, right? I don't wear Technicolor zebra print anymore. Just trust me; you'll look fabulous."

Kurt slips it on and buttons it swiftly, standing up to examine the outfit in his mirror.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he says, throwing his arms around Mercedes in a tight hug. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome, honey," Mercedes says, squeezing Kurt in return. "You look gorgeous, like I said - Blaine won't be able to keep his hands off you. Now, just give me a minute to get changed, then we'll grab something to eat and go."

* * *

><p>As soon as Kurt and Mercedes enter the bar at half-past seven, after bolting some food at the Thai place down the road (Kurt isn't stupid, he isn't going to drink on an empty stomach), they are met by a wall of sound from the group of <em>Glee<em> employees stood in the corner of the room. Most of them are already clutching drinks in their hands; Santana and Brittany are, surprisingly, the only ones who have so far abstained, but as they're currently chatting up the barman, Kurt doubts if that'll last very long.

Watching them all as he walks towards them, Kurt thinks that a stranger could tell a lot about their personalities from their drinks of choice. Puck and Lauren favour beers, though they drink different brands – Puck's is a sweeter blend, laced with hints of citrus fruit. Finn prefers rosé wine with a slightly dry, sharp undertone. The other girls are downing cocktails: Santana's has a sharp, bitter edge with an underlying sweetness; Brittany and Tina's are cloying and sugary, Britt preferring bright colours and ridiculous umbrellas; and Quinn, as she so often does, falls somewhere in between, filling the middle ground.

When the reach the group, Mercedes is immediately surrounded by them all, enveloped in their warmth. Kurt hovers on the outside for a moment before he, too, is pulled into the hug.

"Oh, it's good to see you again, Mercedes," Tina says. "You're going to have a brilliant time tonight." Kurt eventually decided to fill selected people in on the Sam Situation, coming to the decision that it would be better to have them know than for them to mention something accidentally that could set Mercedes off. She seems a lot better, even in just the day since Sam dropped his bombshell, but Kurt knows that she's still a little fragile and anything could make her snap.

"Speaking of Ms Jones having a fabulous time, I have to go and find some people," Kurt says. "I'll be back in a second." He waves briefly over his shoulder and scans the room for Blaine's friends from Warbling Away. He spots them across the bar and almost skips towards them; he can't explain it, but suddenly he feels bubbly and excited, his insides wriggling like lively snakes.

"Hi guys."

"Hello Kurt," says Jeff, the first to look up at Kurt after his greeting. He looks him over quickly, shaking his head from side-to-side once. "You seem…happy."

"Yeah, I guess…just looking forward to it, really."

"I see what you mean," mutters an unfamiliar voice from Nick's right-hand side. "He _is_ as bad as Blaine. They're going to be unbearable."

"Um, hello?" Kurt says, glancing at the man who has spoken. He is dark-skinned with close-cropped hair, and seems taller than most of the others, folded into his seat in the corner between Nick and Trent.

"Oh, yes. Kurt, this is David," Jeff says. "He was at Dalton with us, but he actually has a proper job as a teacher do he doesn't have to work in the café with us as well."

"It's nice to meet you," Kurt says, leaning towards David and shaking his hand. "Did you say you guys went to Dalton? In Westerville, Ohio?"

"Yeah," Wes says, nodding. "Why?"

"It's…odd, is all. My glee club was supposed to compete against a group from Dalton at Sectionals one year, but they pulled out the morning of the competition."

"In 2010?" Wes asks, after counting on his fingers for a moment. Kurt thinks back, then nods. "Yeah, we were supposed to compete that year, but David here, genius that he is, fell down the stairs and gave himself concussion. We all spent the day in the emergency room."

"I have apologised enough for this," David says indignantly. Wes waves a hand dismissively and turns his attention back to Kurt.

"So you must have been in the New Directions," he says thoughtfully. "Small world."

"It really is," Kurt agrees. "I, uh…I actually considered transferring to Dalton during my Junior year, but it was too expensive in the end."

"I'm sorry, Kurt. We would have liked to meet you in high school; you seem cool. Why were you considering transferring, if you don't mind me asking."

"I, uh..." Kurt pauses for a moment, before taking the leap. "I was bullied quite a lot because of my sexuality."

The men around the table nod sombrely in understanding. "Kurt…I really am sorry," Wes says. "It's a shame Dalton wasn't an option in the end – it's a safe haven for a lot of kids in that sort of situation, Blaine included."

Kurt looks at him curiously, head tipped to the one side. Blaine was bullied? Kurt doesn't understand how anyone could hate someone as friendly and happy and utterly_ good_ as Blaine seems to be. Then again, Kurt was never able to understand why he was bullied in high school, just because he happens to like other guys.

Wes sighs and nods. "Blaine transferred to Dalton part-way through his freshman year. I won't go into details – it's not my story to tell – but things got…pretty rough."

Kurt nods in understanding, biting his lips. "It's stupid," he mutters. Then he shakes his head, fixing a smile on his face. "This got far too serious considering it's only half seven. Now, I came over here to introduce you to my friends. We've got about half an hour until Blaine's set starts, I reckon you can all get nicely acquainted in that time."

He holds out both his hands and pulls Jeff and Wes to their feet, beckoning for everyone to follow him across the room as he walks back over to his friends.

"Guys," he calls, "these are Blaine's friends." Everyone turns their attention to him as he identifies the new-comers: "This is Wes, who owns a coffee shop on St Nicholas Avenue; Jeff, Nick and Trent all work for him; and David is a teacher." He looks round at everyone, seeing them eye each other a little apprehensively. "Here's where you're supposed to talk," he says, nudging Mercedes towards Wes and then darting away, sliding into a stool at the bar and asking for a tequila sunrise. When it arrives, he takes a little sip and looks at the man sitting next to him. It is Joshua, a glass of water sat in front of him and his head resting on his arm.

"Josh?" Kurt asks. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," Josh says, jerking his head up.

"Really? 'Cause you look miserable, frankly."

Joshua sighs. "I just…haven't been out much since my boyfriend broke up with me."

Josh being gay is news to Kurt, but his expression doesn't change as he asks, "When did you guys break up?"

"Two years ago."

"Really? Okay, if it was two weeks – two months, even – I could understand," Kurt says, setting his glass down. "But two years? You need to move on, Josh. Please. Go talk to someone other than your boss, and drink something other than water. Go crazy; have a coke, maybe."

This, at least, earns a laugh from Joshua, though it is short lived. "I don't really know anyone. Certainly not any guys."

"Leave it to me," Kurt assures him. "Go and try talking to that guy." He raises his arm and points out Trent, leaning against the wall and watching everyone else interact. "Trust me."

"O…Okay," Josh says, swallowing visibly. He puts his glass of water down after one last gulp and gestures to the bartender for a coke, as suggested, before striding across to Trent, more purposefully than Kurt has ever seen him move, and engaging the other man in conversation.

Kurt settles back against the bar top and surveys his handiwork. Nick has been absorbed into a noisy conversation about baseball with Finn, Puck and Mike, whilst Jeff is being fussed over by the girls. Brittany keeps stroking his hair, and Kurt distinctly hears her ask if any elves live in it. David migrated towards Quinn almost immediately and now they are standing together, a little way away from the larger group; Kurt watches as David reaches out a tentative hand and tucks a strand of Quinn's hair behind her ear, making her blush.

Trent and Joshua appear to be getting along swimmingly, as are Wes and Mercedes. Kurt's nudge at the beginning of the evening has clearly worked wonders, as Kurt hears Mercedes' laugh ring out loudly across the room and she risks stepping closer to Wes, her eyelashes fluttering. Kurt smiles to himself, finishing his drink as Blaine steps out onto the tiny stage, his guitar clutched in one hand. Kurt was contented before, but he feels his pulse jump and something warm settle in his stomach that has nothing to do with the alcohol he's just ingested.

"Hi, everyone," Blaine calls as he settles himself on a stool, guitar strap slung over his shoulders. "How are we all tonight?"

The crowd cheers in response, and Kurt can easily make out Santana's loud call in the raucous hub-bub.

"That's great. Now, I've got a few songs I wanna play for you, but later on I might ask for a few requests – so get thinking! This first song was one of my favourites when I was in high school."

He lowers the mic on its stand a little and positions his fingers over the guitar strings, but sings the first verse unaccompanied: "Well you done done me, and you bet I felt it; tried to be cool but you're so hot that I melted; fell right through the cracks, and I'm tryin' to get back…"

Blaine begins to play now too, strumming softly, and lets his eyes rove over the crowd. He winks when he catches Kurt's eyes and Kurt can't help but grin. Normally he thinks that winking is ridiculous and cheesy and certainly not attractive; but, like so many other things, Blaine pulls it off with ease, making Kurt feel (once again) like a blushing school girl. (He can't honestly say he minds very much, though.)

The crowd applauds loudly as the song draws to a close, and Blaine laughs, thriving on the sound and soaking it in for a second before launching into a slowed-down acoustic version of some upbeat Motown song that Kurt only vaguely recognises.

After twenty-five minutes of covers, some sombre and other more cheerful, covering such a wide range of musical genres that it makes Kurt's head spin, Blaine takes a moment to pause, dragging his fingers over the strings of his guitar.

"Anyone thought of anything they'd like me to play?" he asks, turning his head to look at everyone. "I've probably got time to play one song."

There follows a resounding silence. Despite Blaine's popularity so far this evening, no one seems to want to speak up. Kurt is about to suggest something, anything, because he can't bear to see Blaine's slightly downcast expression, when Santana's voice rings out clearly across the room: "Love Me Do by the Beatles."

Jesus Christ. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus Christ. (Not that he is probably particularly bothered about what is happening to one man in a bar in New York City, but never mind. Kurt feels the distinct need to curse a lot.) Kurt is actually going to have to kill her, isn't he? She just doesn't understand about boundaries sometimes.

Kurt can feel his face heating up and knows he must be scarlet. On stage, Blaine's cheeks are also flushed, but he nods and says, "Sure. Great song," before starting to play again. If anyone notices that the tempo is perhaps a little more rushed than it should be, they don't say anything, and Blaine leaves the stage to riotous applause.

Kurt barely stops himself from slamming his glass down on the bar top (the fact that he finished his drink and put it down before Blaine even started playing be damned; it's the effect he's after) before stalking across the room to Santana.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he hisses, pulling her off to the side. "Do you know how awkward that was?"

"Oh, hush your whining, Hummel. I'm doing you two a favour: the sooner you get all up on that, the better. I'm just…speeding things up, because God knows you won't."

"Santana, if anything is going to happen – which is not guaranteed – then it will happen in its own time. We don't need any help from you."

"Oh, whatever. Of course you do. Now go talk to your boy." Santana jerks her head towards where Blaine is now stood, talking to Jeff. Kurt gives her one last glare, but moves over to stand next to Blaine anyway. By the time he gets there, Jeff seems to have melted away, leaving Blaine alone.

"Hey," Kurt says, shifting his weight to cock his hip. He hears Blaine swallow loudly and watches as a sheet of paper flutters to the ground from Blaine's fingers. Kurt automatically bends over and picks it up, having to twirl a little on the spot to catch it. there's the same loud, wet gulping sound as before and when Kurt looks up Blaine's eyes – and pupils – are wide. Kurt can't hide a smirk, remembering which pair of jeans he chose earlier._ Well_, he thinks, _that's flattering._

"You all right?" Kurt asks, handing Blaine the paper.

Blaine blinks distractedly as he meets Kurt's gaze. "Yeah…yeah, I'm fine. You…you look great."

"Thanks," Kurt says, feeling his cheeks go rosy again. "So do you. And you sounded _amazing_."

"Thank you, really. That means a lot."

Kurt cocks his head to the side, unable to stop smiling even as the conversation stalls. "You wanted to meet my friends, right?" he says.

"Sure."

"Then come meet them," Kurt says, catching Blaine's hand in his own and dragging him towards the group from Glee, which is still hovering by the bar, monopolizing the bartender's attention. Other people are starting to get irritated, but are largely ignored.

"Guys," Kurt calls, "more introductions. This is Blaine."

"Oh, we know," Santana says. "We've heard _all_ about him."

"Do you have any sense of self-preservation at all, Santana? Because you always seem to forget that I'm the one paying you when you start to irritate me."

For once, Santana can see that Kurt really means business and falls silent straight away, letting Kurt turn back to Blaine.

"That, as you may have gathered, is Santana," he says, gesturing in the Latina's direction.

"Yeah," Blaine says, "I know Santana."

Kurt frowns. "How?"

"Um…the first time I saw you here, I asked her if she knew who you were."

"Oh, yeah, she mentioned that," Kurt says. "Anyway, 'Tana's dating Brittany, the blonde one poking Jeff's hair. Puck and Lauren are the couple over by the bar, and Mike and Tina are the pair talking with Nick. They're getting married in September."

"Oh, that's great," Blaine says happily. He smiles and waves as he calls his congratulations.

"Finn's my step-brother," Kurt continues, pointing him out. "He's just broken up with my friend Rachel, who's on Broadway-"

"Rachel Berry?"

"Uh, yes?"

"You're friends with Rachel Berry?" Blaine says. "Oh my God, she's amazing!"

"Yeah, she is," Kurt says with a chuckle. Who knew Blaine was such an avid fan of Broadway musicals? "She knows it, too."

"Oh. Yeah, I can see how that would kind of suck."

"You get used to it," Kurt says. "And I love her, that helps. She was with Finn for years, on and off since high school, but I think it's completely over now."

"God, relationships in your group sound complicated."

"It gets worse," Kurt assures Blaine. "Before Santana worked out she was gay, she was on everyone. Mike and Tina are about the most stable couple out of everyone in the New Directions."

"What about you, though? You strike me as the monogamous type."

"For me to have had a boyfriend in high school would have required there to be another openly gay kid at Homophobia High, Lima, Ohio."

"Ouch." Blaine winces.

"Yep. Now, I'm forgetting people. Who have I forgotten?" Blaine gestures to the pairs on the edge of the larger group. "Oh, right, thank you. That's Mercedes, talking to Wes; Josh, the new intern, is with Trent; and Quinn is speaking to David. Mercedes and Josh, I admit, were pushed in those directions by me, but the Quinn-David thing is a little unexpected."

"Cute, though."

"Adorable, really."

"They really look like they're getting along," Blaine says. "David's been so busy lately – he's just qualified as a teacher – that it's nice to see him having fun."

"Well, I'm glad for them both – all of them, actually. I found Josh moping over a glass of water before I pushed him in Trent's direction," Kurt says, rolling his eyes expressively and making Blaine laugh. "Now that you know who everyone is, why don't you go get acquainted?"

Blaine pouts. "But I wanna talk to you."

"You can talk to me later," Kurt says, trying to ignoring the funny feeling in his stomach. It feels like some kind of insect, too small to be a butterfly but too large for anything else, is flapping in there, very insistently indeed. "Go meet my friends, like you said you wanted to."

Blaine huffs, says, "Fine," and wanders away, making his way around the group. He spends by far the most time with Santana, talking with her about something that seems serious and important, judging by the expressions on their faces, before making his way back round to Kurt."

"Done. Duty fulfilled."

"Well done," Kurt says. "Now, would you….would you like a drink?"

"That'd be nice."

Up until now, things have been a little awkward, a little stilted; once they are both settled with a drink in hand and can wrap themselves up in nothing but the other's conversation, things pick up and only improve from there.

"Look, as much as I love the film of Rent and adore Idina Menzel – how could I not? – I would always prefer to see a live performance – it's the atmosphere," Kurt insists.

"Even in a really crappy community theatre production?"

"Yes. Films can be bad too – look at John Travolta in Grease. That high note in Summer Lovin'…" Kurt shudders.

"Ugh!" Blaine sighs dramatically sipping from his glass to hide his happy smile. "There is no reasoning with you!"

"Oh, you know I'm right."

"Hey, Kurt!" Santana shouts. Kurt looks up and sees her standing by the door. "We're all leaving. You comin'?"

"Where's Mercedes?" Kurt asks.

"She left about half an hour ago with curly top's friend. Quinn left with the other one about ten minutes later."

"Oh. Well, okay, give me a minute," Kurt says, turning back to Blaine.

"You have to go?"

"Yeah. I had a really good time tonight."

"Good," Blaine says. "So did I. Can…can I see you again?"

"You asked me that last time."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't hurt to ask." Blaine shrugs, but he looks nervous. "Can I?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I want to see you?"

Blaine just shrugs again, but his anxious frown has transformed into a bright, genuine smile.

"Hey, Hummel!" calls Santana's voice. "Getting' impatient over here!"

"I really ought to go," Kurt says. "Call me sometime?"

"Of course," Blaine says. He hovers for a moment, leaning forward on the balls of his feet as if he's waiting for something. He pauses, judging Kurt's expression before closing the gap between them and kissing Kurt softly.

Never before has Kurt had a kiss like this, a kiss that makes his knees weak and his stomach flutter. As they break apart and say goodbye, Kurt knows he is grinning far too wide and that he must look slightly mad; but as he walks – no, floats – towards the door, he really can't bring himself to care.

* * *

><p><em>I hope I haven't lost all the Samcedes shippers, and that the kliss (finally!) makes up for any momentary annoyance. Wescedes and Quavid are my heterosexual OTPs, along with Tike. I regret nothing<em>

_Reviews are greatly appreciated, please leave one :D_


	8. Chapter 8

_Oh, Jesus, it's been a while since I last updated. This has been a really hard slog to type up. On the plus side, though, I've got chapter nine and about half of ten written. On the down side, nine is another 5k+ chapter, and ten will be too. So it'll be a while between updates again :(_

_Anyway, on with the chapter! Please leave a review to let me know what you thought :)_

* * *

><p>On Saturday morning, Mercedes is the one to wake Kurt up, not the other way around. This is probably the first time Kurt has slept in since...oh, since high school, perhaps before. He can never seem to manage to stay in bed beyond eight o'clock, even on weekends; usually, he has to be up and doing something - time spent lying in bed is time wasted. But this morning Kurt's dream, of a small, dark room and the sweet brush of lips against his own, is far too good to rush away from as soon as he ordinarily would.<p>

"Kurt," Mercedes says, rustling his duvet and shaking his shoulders. "Come on, get up. You need to come with me to the airport, remember?" Kurt groans, his voice raspy with sleep, and Mercedes clucks her tongue. "Oh, baby, did you have a bit too much to drink?"

"I'm not hung over."

"Sure..."

"I'm not!" Kurt protests. "I had two drinks; I was too busy talking to Blaine to even finish the second one."

"Okay, then, you're not hung over," Mercedes says. "What's up, then?"

"Good dream."

"About...?" Mercedes draws the sound out, waiting for an answer.

"None of your business," Kurt says. Mercedes groans and scowls.

"Mean. Now, come on! Get up and get dressed; my flight leaves at one."

She leaves, and Kurt lies in bed a minute longer, trying to recapture his dream. Everything has evaporated with Mercedes' intrusion, leaving Kurt with only a fading sensation of searing warmth and want. He sighs, giving the dream up as lost, and climbs out of bed, scrabbling around in his drawers for some clothes. Once dressed, he wanders out into the kitchen for some breakfast in the hope that food will make him feel more awake than he currently does. Chewing on a morsel of toast, he joins Mercedes in the living room.

"What time is it?" he asks, sitting down in the arm chair near the door.

"Half ten," Mercedes replies. "We probably ought to leave at about eleven - who knows how bad the traffic'll be, after all, and I can't miss this flight."

"Okay," Kurt says, swallowing the last of his jam-slathered bread. "How about we go now and get some coffee before we set off? There's this place down the road that's brilliant."

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

><p>Twenty nine minutes later, Kurt and Mercedes are sat in the back of a cab, coffee cups in hand and Mercedes' luggage piled into the boot as the make their way, every-so-slowly, towards JFK airport.<p>

The traffic, as Mercedes predicted, is not brilliant. Kurt has seen it worse, much worse, and it isn't likely to make Mercedes miss her flight; but it is certainly enough to slow their progress significantly. This means Kurt is bored. Very bored. And because he's bored, he decides to ask Mercedes about her having gone home with Wes las night, which she doesn't seem inclined to mention. She blushes, but says she doesn't know what he's talking about.

"Don't lie, 'Cedes; Santana told me she saw you leave with him."

Mercedes snorts and says 'Santana!" derisively.

"Yes, Santana," Kurt counters. "She's bitchy, but not a liar. Besides, you two looked pretty cosy from what I saw."

"Yeah, when you weren't busy staring at Blaine."

"Excuse me, I think we were talking about you," Kurt says with a sniff. "Now spill. I won't judge."

Mercedes looks at him sharply for several seconds before softening her gaze. "Yes, I did. But nothing really happened: we had coffee and talked." She finishes speaking and folds her lips together tightly, as if determined to say no more. Something in her eyes, however, and in her lightly-flushed cheeks, tells Kurt that she's leaving out something important.

"Did you kiss him?" he asks astutely. Mercedes flushes a little darker but shakes her head firmly.

"Then _he_ kissed _you_. Come on, Mercedes, I said I wouldn't judge. Wasn't I the one who set you two up?"

Mercedes pauses, nose wrinkled, before admitting that, yes, Wes kissed her. Kurt claps his hands together, smiling.

"Oh, that's great," he coos. "I thought you two would hit it off."

More confident thanks to Kurt's enthusiastic reaction, Mercedes smiles too. "He's amazing," she says. "He just seems to get me, y'know? And he's a perfect gentleman."

"So he didn't try to make you do anything?" Kurt asks.

"No! What part of 'he's a perfect gentleman' don't you get?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Kurt says placatingly. "I just had to check, okay? You insist on threatening everyone I'm involved with, after all. Dean nearly had an aneurysm when he met you."

"...I suppose. But you introduced me to Wes in the first place."

"I asked Blaine to make sure he came so there was a straight guy you had't met before that I knew wasn't a psycho-murderer. And, yeah, I thought you would get on. But that's not to say that he isn't a psycho in some other, hidden respect."

"Don't say things like that," Mercedes says with a shudder. "I was just thinking that I could really like him, and then you go and tell me he might be some kind of weirdo."

"Oh, no, I'm fairly certain he isn't..."

Mercedes aims a slap at his arm which Kurt just dodges.

"In all seriousness, though, do you really like him that much?"

"Yes, Kurt." Mercedes' voice is soft, but she sounds certain.

"And does he know you're going back to Chicago today?"

"Yes, actually," Mercedes says. "I did bring it up, when he asked me to go back to his place."

"And?" Kurt prompts.

"And we decided that we really want to see each other again. He's coming down to Chicago next week and we're going to see how things go from there."

Kurt offers a little round of applause. "Very well thought out," he says. "I'm glad you're not rushing into things, and I hope it works out for you. You should be happy, after Sam."

"Thank you," Mercedes says, squeezing Kurt's hand. "Now, what happened with Blaine? I didn't get a chance to talk to you."

Kurt can't quite stop himself grinning. He settles further back into his seat, still holding Mercedes' hand, and prepares to tell the whole story, sparing no details. (It's not often he gets to gush, okay?)

* * *

><p>Sunday, for Kurt, seems to last forever now that Mercedes is gone. He can't even go into work - Tina is still refusing to let him come in on Sundays; he receives a frustrated text from her after he phones, asking how things are going, that threatens not only to ban him from the building on Saturdays, too, but to have the phone number changed so he can't irritate her anymore. He stops calling after that.<p>

Left alone, with nothing at all to do, Kurt only has one option: he calls Rachel.

"Hi Rachel," he says when she picks up.

"Oh, Kurt! Hi, it's so nice to hear from you. How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you. How are you?"

Rachel takes this simple inquiry into her well-being as a cue to launch into an extremely long, rambling speech about her work ("Elphaba, Kurt! I mean, of _course_ I got the part, but it's still an honour. I've always felt I connected, really connected, with that role."); her family ("My dads are in the city so they can come to the opening night. You should come over and see them before they leave, Kurt - they always liked you so much."); and, after a slight pause, Finn ("I love him, Kurt, you know that; but I can't stay with him if he isn't going to support me and my choices. He was completely unreasonable, asking me to drop everything and go to LA with him when he doesn't even know what he'd do out there."). As she talks, on and on and on, Kurt remembers why he loves Rachel but also (and crucially) why he doesn't call her as often as he probably should: it is very difficult - close to impossible - to get her to shut up.

Eventually, however, she runs out of steam, as is inevitable, and starts a new conversational thread.

"When Mercedes was round on Friday, she said you have a new boyfriend." Rachel sounds slightly hurt, and Kurt hears some faint crackling sounds as she shifts the phone into a more comfortable position. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Kurt sighs. "Because," he says, "he's not my boyfriend. We've been out twice."

"So you're dating."

"Not exactly."

"Well, what it is, then, Kurt?" Rachel whines. "Help me out here!"

"We've been out twice, but they weren't really_ dates_. We went for coffee at the café where he works, and he asked me to come and watch him play at this little bar on Christopher Street."

"I think I know the one," Rachel says. Kurt can almost hear her nod on the other end of the line. "But why weren't they dates?"

"I...I don't know!" Kurt splutters. "They...just weren't, y'know?"

"Did either of you refer to one of them as a date?"

"...Yes," Kurt admits. "When we went for coffee, I asked if it was a date and he said it was if I wanted it to be."

"And did you?" Rachel asks. "Want it to be, I mean."

"Yes."

"Well, then," she says. "You're dating." There is a definite note of finality in her voice. Kurt wishes everything could be as simple as it is in Rachel's head.

"It's not that easy, Rach!"

"Why not? You like him, he seems to like you; and from what Mercedes said on Friday and on the phone last night, he sounds amazing - perfect, really."

"That's the problem, though - every guys I've dated since college _seemed_ perfect at first, but then he turned out to be a bigger jerk than the last one!"

This is the first time that Kurt has acknowledged the fears that have curled themselves into the base of his brain and taken root in the twenty-four hours he has been alone, either aloud or to himself. At first, he was caught up in Blaine's charming smile and easy conversation, and how he _is_ perfect - not literally so, as Dean seemed to be at first, but perfect for _Kurt_, which is so much better. But Rachel's confident assessment of their relationship status has dredged up memories: of Alex, who threw three glasses at the wall when Kurt was ten minutes late for their date after getting held up at the office; of James, who, it turned out, was only dating him for a bet; and of Dean, who Kurt had come home to find tangled up, naked, on the couch with some silly, flirty grad student. Even Blaine, sweet, honest, caring Blaine, can't defend himself from such a backlog of disastrous, humiliating experiences.

Rachel is silent for a long, drawn-out moment, as if she knows all the thoughts that are racing through his mind. This is why Kurt has only been able to talk to her about his fears. He loves all the other girls, but not even Mercedes understands him as well as Rachel does. Once, he was insulted to be told he was like her; today, he is glad of their similarities - they leave little room for misunderstandings.

"I understand where you're coming from, Kurt," she says slowly. "But...is there any reason for you to think that Blaine would do anything to hurt you?"

"No," says Kurt, "but he might. What if he does? I didn't think any of the others would hurt me like they did. I never thought Dean would _cheat_ on me." He sighs. "My judgement isn't the best."

"But Mercedes seems to really like him," Rachel protests. "When she called me once she was back in Chicago, she said that she'd met him and that he seemed lovely. She didn't didn't feel the need to threaten him; she didn't even object to him disappearing into the corner with you all evening."

"Really?"

"Yes," Rachel answers firmly. "And doesn't that tell you something, that no one has any objections when they were so violently opposed to all the previous guys?"

"So you think I should trust him?"

"I think you should trust him," she repeats. "Just...relax, and let it all go. You should be happy."

Kurt listens to her advice carefully. Her voice is pitched low and she sounds certain and confident, if a little sad. Kurt wonders if this is the approach she took when deciding to end things with Finn; he wonders if it's working, and if she might be happy in the future.

"Thank you," he says. "Honestly. You've helped so much."

"You're welcome, Kurt," Rachel says, a smile evident in her voice. "I want to meet him, though. He sounds interesting."

"Hey, back off, Berry," Kurt says, laughing a little and making Rachel laugh too. "Not your team, remember?"

"Okay, okay, understood. Bye, Kurt."

"Bye, Rachel. Thank you."

Kurt hangs up, laying the phone down on the table. He feels far more at ease now; he knows exactly what to do.

* * *

><p>Kurt walks into the office on Monday morning feeling as if he is perched on the edge of a high, high cliff and just waiting for that final wave, the one that washes away the last of the stone beneath his feet and sends him tumbling down into the water below. That's how it feels, with Blaine: not as if falling for him is a choice, or a possibility - more an inevitability. Kurt can run as far and as fast as he likes; he'll always end up back at that cliff edge.<p>

So he's decided to take control - decide his own fate, as far as he can (because if he's learnt one thing in these past few days with Blaine, it's that no one can control _everything_). He just needs to be absolutely certain first.

The office is eerily quiet, empty apart from Santana and Quinn. Kurt walks over to Santana first, intending to greet her; his mouth is half-open when he notices that she's on the phone.

"Jesus, short-stuff, I won't tell him. I want this to be as much of a surprise as you do," she says. "One word from me will guarantee you your big break." She waves at Kurt as he walks past, gesturing for him to stop, which he does. "I'll talk to you later." Santana puts the phone down, examining one nail to make sure the polish hasn't chipped. "How are you, Hummel? Not still hungover?"

Kurt rolls his eyes. "I didn't even have two drinks," he says haughtily. "Hell of a lot less than you did."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, moral high ground..."

"Yep." Kurt grins. "Who was that?" he asks, gesturing to the phone where it sits in its cradle.

"No one," Santana says, just a little bit too quickly.

"Quite a talkative 'no one'."

Santana pokes her tongue out at him. "I'm just getting some information for my article. Y'know...working."

"You? No..."

"Ha ha ha." Santana narrows her eyes. "But anyway, how are things goin' with Curly-Top?"

"I haven't seen him since Friday night," Kurt says. "But...'Tana...do you like him?"

Santana raises her eyebrows. "What is this, Kurt? Are you having second thoughts about that boy?"

"No! I just...you know what my dating history is like."

"You date jerks."

"Yes, thank you for that. Anyway, I was talking to Rachel yesterday -"

"Ugh. Berry," Santana interjects, her voice full of affectionate disdain. Kurt shushes her.

"Do you want me to answer your question or not? Yesterday, I was talking to Rachel about this, and she said that none of you ever liked any of my ex-boyfriends."

"We didn't," Santana says simply. "They were all dicks; we couldn't understand why you didn't see it too."

"That's the problem." Kurt sighs. "I can't seem to tell who's a jerk and who isn't; what if Blaine's just the same?"

Santana looks at him, concern and affection mingling in her dark eyes, and grips Kurt's hand.

"Now, you see," she says softly, "I happen to know Blaine isn't like that. He's the real deal."

"How can you tell?" Kurt asks. Something tells him this moment is important: he'll learn something here.

"His smile," Santana replies. "Have you seen it? It goes all the way up to his eyes, lights them up and crinkles the skin around them. You can see everything in that boy's grin. Dean, James...none of the idiots you used to date smiled like that. Their eyes were always cold -"

"But Blaine's are warm," Kurt says quietly.

"Exactly."

"Thank you, Santana. That...that really helped."

"You're welcome. Go talk to Quinn if you need another opinion - just don't get all sentimental on me; you know I can't handle that kind of crap."

"You started it, waxing lyrical about his eyes. And here we all were, thinking you're a lesbian."

"Oh, shut it, Hummel," Santana says, pushing him away. "Go talk to Fabray."

"Okay, okay. Bye, Santana."

Santana gives him another gentle shove and he stumbles towards Quinn, laughing. Quinn glances up, hearing the noise, and looks at him, smiling.

"Hi, Kurt," she says. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, thanks. Where is everyone? It's so quiet in here."

"They're all out. Most of them are working on this month's issue, and Tina and Mike are out tasting cakes."

"Oh, of course, I remember. The wedding's in September, right?"

"Yep." Quinn nods. "The twenty-second."

"Wow..." Kurt shakes his head slightly, wondering where the time has gone. "Anyway, how was your weekend?"

"It was fine, thanks for asking." Something in her voice tells Kurt that she's not telling the whole story.

"So..." he says. "How was Friday night?"

Quinn's cheeks are slightly pink as she answers. "Fine, thank you."

"Don't lie to me, Fabray, it was more than just _fine. _I saw you and David, and I know you went home with him."

"And?"

"And I want details!" Kurt says. "What happened?"

Quinn bites her lip as she thinks back. "We just got on so well. He was so easy to talk to, and perfectly polite."

"Him too? It's like all those Dalton boys are trained to sweep us off our feet," Kurt says.

"David certainly did that."

"Really now?" Kurt says, one eyebrow raised. "How so?"

"I didn't sleep with him, if that's what you're thinking."

"Not that I would judge you if you had," Kurt assures her. "You did more than just kiss him though, didn't you?"

"I did."

"And you like him? He likes you?"

"Yes and yes," Quinn says reassuringly.

"Then I'm happy for you," Kurt says, leaning forward and hugging her. "You deserve it."

"Thank you, Kurt. So do you. You should be happy too."

Kurt pulls back. "I wanted to talk to you about that, actually."

"Okay," Quinn says, sitting down and focusing on Kurt, her expression serious. "What is it?"

"I...don't really trust my judgement anymore, not when it comes to guys," Kurt explains. "But you lot...you knew Dean was bad news before I did, and all the others."

Quinn nods solemnly. "He was...odd. Kind of slimy, you know? He just wasn't genuine. But I'm guessing this conversation is about Blaine...what does Dean have to do with him?"

"I'm not sure whether or not I can trust Blaine. I want to, and I think I do, deep down, but...He seems perfect, but so did all the others. Mercedes and Santana like him, but I want to be certain."

"So you want my opinion too." Kurt nods. "Well, I didn't really speak to him much - you monopolized him a little - but he seemed wonderful. Nothing like Dean. And David has nothing but good to say about him. He thinks the world of him, and David seems very trustworthy."

Kurt breathes deeply, feeling considerably more peaceful. "Thank you, Quinn."

"You're welcome, Kurt. I hope you know what to do now." Kurt nods, smiling, and hugs Quinn again.

"Good," she laughs. "Now, I have to nip out for a bit - you going to be all right?"

"Yes, Quinn, I'll be fine. Go if you need to." Kurt shoos her away and steps into his own office, sitting down behind his desk. He tries to concentrate on some of the papers piled up in his in-tray, but it is a struggle, so he's quite grateful when his phone buzzes with a text message.

_**From: Blaine**_

_Can you call me right now?_

Kurt's forehead wrinkles in confusion, but he dials Blaine's number immediately.

"Hello?"

"Blaine? You asked me to call you?"

"Oh, hi, Kurt!" Blaine sounds just as happy as he usually does. "Yeah: I jut got rather an interesting package delivered to the café."

"Oh really?" Kurt asks, grinning broadly.

"Uh-huh."

"And?"

"And why didn't you tell me you were going to be giving me an annual subscription to your magazine for free?"

"Because that wouldn't be anywhere near as much fun as this," Kurt replies, giggling. "It's kind of hilarious."

"Seriously, Kurt, thank you so much. I can't believe you would do that for me - and the others, too."

"Really?"

"Well, yeah. We've not known each other that long; why should I expect anything from you?"

"I just...all my previous boyfriends expected _something_, whether it was help with rent or just for me to pay for dates all the time. This is nice."

"That's horrible, Kurt," Blaine says. "You deserve them to pitch a little woo as well."

"I already told, I habitually end up dating jerks. I have a feeling you're different, though."

"So...Are we dating, then?" Blaine asks. He sounds as nervous as Kurt felt yesterday.

"I'm not sure, honestly. Is two dates enough to say we're dating?"

"I hope so," Blaine says softly. "Actually, I...I was hoping we're a little more than that."

"Blaine...are you asking me to be your boyfriend?"

"Um...yes, I suppose so."

Kurt pauses for a moment. This is where he makes his decision: does he keep running, or does he turn and jump? He listens to the silence, which somehow manages to sound hopeful, and makes up his mind, diving head-first into the sea. He barely notices the fall, leaping into it with his heart wide open.

"Yes. Yes, I would like to be your boyfriend."

"Oh. Okay. Awesome."

"Blaine Anderson: Master of Understatement," Kurt chuckles.

"Shh, I'm trying to come to terms with this amazing turn of events." Kurt smiles giddily and flushes rosy-pink. "Are you...are you free at all this week?"

Kurt sighs, his smile disappearing. "No, I don't think so. These next couple of weeks are usually the busiest. I'm so sorry."

"No, no, don't worry. Can't be helped."

"I do _want_ to see you."

"I know," Blaine says, his voice soft. "Call me when you get a chance, yeah? I like talking to you."

"Of course I will."

"Good. I have to go, though; Wes is yelling at me. Bye, Kurt."

"Bye Blaine." Kurt ends the call and slips his phone back into this pocket, leaning back in his chair. He smiles as he thinks of Blaine - his _boyfriend_. He's floating in the middle of the ocean, miles from the shore, but he doesn't feel even slightly out of his depth.

* * *

><p>Ordinarily, though he works quickly, Kurt can string out his work, inventing enough menial tasks to keep him going until the next big job comes along. This week, though, he just can't seem to do it, which is why, come Friday lunchtime, he is sat behind his desk, twiddling his thumbs. Tina and Quinn glare at him every time they walk past his open door, clearly trying to get him out of the office if he has nothing to do; after fifteen minutes of this, he caves under the pressure and announces that he's going to go for a walk.<p>

Out in the city, Kurt wanders randomly, wherever his feel want to take him. Within twenty minutes, he is slowing as he nears the cream-painted front of Warbling Away. He sighs - it is quite sad, really, how often his thoughts have turned to Blaine over the past few days. Every few minutes, he has to stop himself texting Blaine, just to say hello or share some snarky comment. He is determined to keep the texts to appropriate lulls in the day, and certainly not more than once every three hours. He doesn't want to seem clingy.

Despite the greater than usual temptation (without any work to distract him, his fingers have been itching, reaching towards his phone even more often than usual), Kurt has resisted texting Blaine so far today. Now, instead of an electronic facsimile of Kurt, he's going to get the real thing.

Blaine told Kurt yesterday that he is going to be working today, so Kurt knows he won't look ridiculous, expecting Blaine to be there when he won't. What he doesn't expect is for the shop to be completely empty aside from Blaine, leaning his forearms on the counter and reading a newspaper. He looks up as the bell on the door tinkles, a pencil dangling from his fingers; Kurt figures he's doing the crossword.

Blaine looks at Kurt as he walks in, eyes wide. He raises his hand in greeting, but doesn't actually get around to waving it. Kurt rolls his eyes as he reaches the counter.

"Hello to you too."

"No, uh, hi, hello." Blaine swallows and smiles up at Kurt. "I just didn't expect to see you."

"I finished up a bit early and Tina and Quinn practically pushed me out the door. I went for a wander and ended up here." Kurt shrugs. "I guess you've been on my mind." Blaine's grin is almost blinding.

"Well, you won't find me objecting," he says. "Can I get you a coffee?"

"Please. A grande-"

"Non-fat mocha," Blaine finishes.

"You know my coffee order?"

"Of course I do." Blaine's tone and raised eyebrows indicate that it shouldn't even be a question.

"Well, thank you," Kurt says. He looks around the room again, peering over the counter to see if anyone is hiding in the back of the shop. "It's quiet today. Is no one else in?"

"Nope," Blaine says, looking back at Kurt over his shoulder. "It's just me. Friday afternoons are pretty quiet until about four anyway, so it's normally only me and Wes until Nick comes in then. But this week Wes is in Chicago."

"With Mercedes, yeah, she said," Kurt says. "I'm glad they got on so well. Have you heard from him?"

"Not a word."

"Me neither. That could be a good thing, or it could be a bad thing."

"Bad because it's gone horribly and they don't want to talk about it."

"Or good because they don't have_ time_ to talk to us." Kurt and Blaine look at each other as Blaine slides Kurt's coffee across the counter and just laugh, laugh until their sides hurt and it's hard to breathe.

"Oh, God."

"Ew. Why would you say that?"

"At least Wes is a guy. _My_ friend in this equation is a _girl_."

"Ick," Blaine says, giggling.

"Exactly: you have no right to complain," Kurt says. He sips from his coffee and smiles. "I've missed this."

"What?"

"This." Kurt gestures between them. "You. How easy it is to talk to you."

"Well, I don't plan on going anywhere, so you have plenty of time to laugh hysterically with me at the thought of our friends having sex."

Kurt fans himself. "Such wit! Such charm! Such a way with words! Blaine Anderson, tell me, how did I resist you for so long?"

"You call two weeks, from the first time you saw me, _resisting me_?" Blaine asks incredulously.

"Oh, hush, you. Like you did any better."

"That's not my fault," Blaine insists. "You're just irresistible."

"And _that_ is such a line."

"It's really not," Blaine says. His voice is soft, low, and his eyes, gazing up at Kurt through his lashes, are bright and intense. "I got so lucky when you stopped to hear me play."

Kurt blushes. "I feel the same way. But I won't say it - if I do, I know this is just going to descend into some silly, childish, 'I'm luckiest' 'No, I'm luckiest' argument."

"I'm not ashamed to say that that is exactly what will happen," Blaine admits, "but maybe we should change the subject - that would be immature."

"Okay then," Kurt says, casting his mind around for another topic of conversation. Bingo. "You know you told me you're from Ohio?"

"Yeah."

"Well, why didn't you tell me that you're from _Westerville_?"

"Is that of particular importance?" Blaine asked.

"I'm from Lima."

"So we've lived two hours away from each other our entire lives?" Blaine seems appropriately shocked. "Damn..."

"Why 'damn'?"

"Because I could have met you years ago."

"Well, actually...yeah, you could have," Kurt says. "You went to Dalton Academy, right?"

"How do you know these things?" Blaine's eyes are wide.

"I know your friends," Kurt reminds him. "They mentioned it to me. And...I nearly transferred to Dalton my junior year. Couldn't afford it in the end, but my dad and I talked about it."

"Why?" Blaine asks, his forehead crumpled in concern and confusion.

"The other kids at McKinley weren't too fond of the only out gay student."

"Yeah, I can't understand that," Blaine says, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I'll tell you the whole story. Another time, maybe."

"Yeah, another time."

They mutually change subject yet again, sticking to light, neutral subjects. They've gone deep enough for one impromptu visit on a Friday afternoon. And as they talk, sharing sarcastic commentary on the latest of some dreadful, inane comedy neither of them really knows why they watch, Kurt realises that, no matter what Blaine says, he's the lucky one. He's managed to find someone that understands him well enough after thirteen days to know exactly when to stop talking about something. For Kurt, this is completely new territory. Until now, everything has been dead-set against him; what's changed? Kurt hasn't quite worked it out yet, but he does know one thing: he isn't going to give this man up without a fight.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: OK...1) I'M SO SORRY I'M SORRY I SUCK AT UPDATING. Seriously, I can't apologise enough; life just gets in the way and then I crash and burn (like last night) before waking up with a new found determination to do all the things (hence the update, at last)._

_2) I re-wrote this more than once and edited it a lot whilst typing it up. I first wrote the chapter at the beginning of the summer last year, and my writing has developed and improved a lot since I first started this fic...and so I'm now realising exactly how many corners I've backed myself into in terms of believable relationship development with my crazy "this is set over the course of a month" plan. I've tweaked it as best I can to make it work (and I think with Klaine I can, because they're soul mates and once you find The One you would know that pretty quickly (if you're lucky enough to find your true love, of course), but I would like to re-write this whole story at some point. Once my exams are over..._

_3) Apologies again, but chapter ten (last one!) will most likely be quite a while. It's not even all drafted yet (I've re-written that one too) and I have my A Levels coming up. I need to concentrate on those so I can actually go to the uni I **want** to go to next year._

_Long A/N is long, on with the fic._

* * *

><p>"Hello?"<p>

"Blaine." Kurt sighs happily when he hears Blaine's voice, spinning in his office chair so that his back is to the door. "How are you?"

"Great, thanks. How are you?"

"Much better now I'm talking to you," Kurt says. It has been a pretty rough day: Tina is out again (a dress fitting this time) and Quinn is ill, meaning that Kurt is missing the only two reasons why he does not tear his hair out on a daily basis; Santana is in a dreadful mood, snapping at anyone who goes near her, even Brittany (so, whatever is the matter, it must be really serious, only she won't talk about it); and Finn is moping around, looking surly and as if he wants to hit something. Several papers ran large pictures of Rachel this morning, at the opening night of her run of Elphaba in the revival of Wicked. Several of the photographs are of her with a handsome, dark-haired man; they look very close, which explains why Finn is currently glaring at a potted plant as if it has deeply offended him and he must hit it to avenge his wounded pride. To top it all off, Dean has been trying to call Kurt all morning. The first few times, he just ignored the incessant chiming of his phone, and after half an hour he switched it off entirely, but Dean's persistence is both irritating and slightly worrying: what does he want?

"D'you wanna talk about it?" Blaine asks.

"No...no, I really just want to stop thinking about it all, to be honest. Distract me?" Kurt winces, hearing the note of pathetic desperation in his voice.

Blaine just laughs quietly, and when he starts talking, Kurt can hear warmth and affection. He pictures Blaine smiling.

"Well, Wes is back now -"

"Hi, Kurt!"

"Did you hear that?"

"Yes, I did," Kurt says, laughing. "Hello Wes."

"Oh, don't encourage him," Blaine groans. "He's been driving me mad since three o'clock this morning."

"Ouch," Kurt says, crinkling his nose. "I take it things went well, then?"

"Haven't you heard from Mercedes yet?"

Kurt shakes his head before he remembers that, no, Blaine isn't actually in the room with him. "No."

He hears faint muttering somewhere on the other end of the line, and then Blaine says, "She said she was going to text you."

"Oh, she probably will," Kurt says, "she just doesn't normally get up very early. And my phone's been off; I only turned it on to call you."

"I'm sure she'll send you a text once she's up, then. But beware: you might find that, half an hour into the long gushing speech, your ears start bleeding."

Kurt laughs as he hears a faint "Hey!" from Wes, followed by a sharp slapping sound.

"O-o-o-ow!" Blaine cries. "Kurt, you heard that, right? He hit me!"

"Aww, poor baby..."

"Yes! Look, see, Wes –_ he_ likes me."

Kurt distinctly hears another slap.

"Oh, my God, stop hitting me! That's it, I'm going outside."

Kurt waits through a series of disjointed clicks and shuffles until Blaine sighs.

"Okay, now we can talk without me fearing abuse."

"Don't be silly, he wasn't abusing you."

"He was hitting me!"

"Blaine Anderson," Kurt says, "you're a twenty-five-year-old man, not a child, a pensioner or an animal. A couple of light slaps is hardly abuse. You can cope."

"You're mean." Blaine's sulking. Kurt can almost see him pouting.

"You love it."

"I guess I do." Blaine sighs and so does Kurt, leaning back in his chair. "I miss you. I haven't seen you in ages."

"You saw me on Friday."

"That was four whole days ago," Blaine argues. "Are you free tomorrow night?"

Kurt quickly scans the calendar on his desk. "Yeah."

"Will you go to dinner with me?"

"You know," Kurt says mildly, trying to fight the urge to scream very loudly, "you keep asking me out as if you expect me to say no."

"Is that a yes?" Blaine asks.

"No."

"Oh."

"It's an 'of course I will, don't be stupid.' Didn't I agree to be your boyfriend a week ago?"

"You did," Blaine concedes, "but I don't like to assume."

"Blaine, honey, you're sweet but you're being ridiculous. I wouldn't have agree to be your boyfriend if I didn't really like you. Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"So the only reason I'd say no to going out with you is if I was already busy. Okay?"

"Okay. So, Wednesday?"

"Wednesday," Kurt confirms. "When and where?"

"Uh...don't worry about it," Blaine says. "I'll let you know."

* * *

><p><em><strong>From: Blaine<strong>_

_We have reservations for tonight at 7 :)_

_**To: Blaine**_

_OK...like that's not vague_

_**From: Blaine**_

_You have all the information you need._

_**To: Blaine**_

_What about *where* we have reservations?_

_**From: Blaine**_

_That's on a need-to-know basis._

_**To: Blaine**_

_And why don't I need to know?_

_**From: Blaine**_

_Because if you know, it won't be a surprise._

_**To: Blaine**_

_Why does it have to be a surprise?_

_**From: Blaine**_

_Because surprises are fun! :)_

_**To: Blaine**_

_Oh my God. Look, I have a meeting now, I have to go. Try not to explode with excitement in the meantime, yeah?_

_**From: Blaine**_

_I'll try, but I make no promises. See you later x _

_**To: Blaine**_

_xxx_

Kurt sighs as he pockets his phone. He's never seen himself as the kind of person who would send his boyfriend a text comprised entirely of kisses, but clearly he is. It is a surprise; Kurt doesn't especially like surprises, so he's a little bit jittery in view of his mysterious date this evening. He tries to tell himself that it isn't really that big of a deal, but he knows it is a lie. This is important, terribly so: it is, really, their first date – their first proper date with dinner and no coffee, only perhaps some wine; their first date since they said, 'we're official'. It is a landmark of sorts, and so Kurt cannot help but be nervous, even if he feels like Blaine has been around forever.

He perhaps rushes his meeting a little – it's not very important, fortunately, only a discussion negotiating printing costs – because he is so on edge. Since he, apparently, does not 'need to know', he ends up sitting in his office all afternoon, answering letters and glancing frequently at the door, until someone knocks on it at half past five.

Kurt looks sharply to see Tina poke her hear around the door, looking excited and a little confused.

"Uh, Kurt," she says, "there's someone here for you."

"Who?"

"Blaine."

Kurt just blinks at her. "Why is he here? Why does he even know where 'here' is?" he asks.

"Don't look at me," Tina answers, "I'm just as confused as you are. He said you have a date, though."

"We do," Kurt says, and then he realises: this is Blaine's surprise, or part of it. In the grand scheme of things, he thinks, it is not really that bad. He was imagining much worse, to be honest; this is sweet and actually romantic.

"Just, uh...just give me a second, okay?" he says to Tina. "I need to get my stuff together." He grabs his jacket and pulls it on, double-checking that his keys, phone and wallet are in his pockets, before switching off the light and following Tina out of his office.

Blaine is standing with Santana by her desk, in the middle of what appears to be another very important conversation. He looks up when he hears Kurt approaching.

"Hey," he says, turning away from Santana and smiling at Kurt.

"Hey yourself," Kurt says. "What are you doing here?"

Blaine's smile becomes a wide, bright grin. "I," he says, linking his arm through Kurt's, "am taking you to dinner." He nods politely to Tina, Santana and the others in the room, and walks with Kurt towards the door, his hand tucked into the crook of Kurt's elbow.

* * *

><p>"I still think you could have told me where we were going before we arrived," Kurt says to Blaine as the stroll along the street, fingers interlinked. "It wouldn't have ruined the surprise."<p>

"Kurt, the restaurant was like, half the surprise," Blaine replies, heaving a heavy sigh of mock- exasperation.

"What was the other half?" Kurt asks. "The décor?"

"That place is beautifully decorated!" Blaine argues.

"If the look they're going for is 'Parisian Brothel', sure."

Blaine sighs again.

"And the waitress was obviously smitten with you," Kurt adds after thinking for moment. "She practically fainted when you smiled at her."

"She was not!" Blaine protests. "How could she be? I wasn't flirting or anything, and besides – she was, what, eighteen? And I have you to occupy me."

"I might want to do a better job of that," Kurt says, pulling Blaine in and brushing a kiss against his lips. "Since you can't seem to stop yourself charming barely-legal waitresses."

Blaine's eyelids flutter open and he rolls his eyes, looking up at Kurt. "So," he says. "Where to next?"

A small idea has been forming in Kurt's brain and he plucks up the courage to voice it.

"Do you maybe want to come back to my place?"

Blaine doesn't even hesitate. "Okay."

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry, it's a few floors up, and I don't really like using the elevator."<p>

"Why not?" Blaine says as they walk up the second flight of stairs.

"It breaks down every other month or so, and I've just gotten used to taking the stairs," Kurt says. "It wasn't working when I first moved in -"

"Typical," Blaine interjects with a grin.

"Typical," Kurt repeats. "They couldn't get anyone into fix it for about six weeks, and it's never been the same since. Besides, in the mornings it's full of noisy kids going to school."

Blaine murmurs, "Fair enough," just as they reach Kurt's floor. Kurt's fingers fumble with the key as he unlocks the door and he wonders why he is suddenly so nervous. It's not as if he has never had another man in his apartment; this scenario should be familiar. But something about the simple fact that it is Blaine with him now makes it seem so much more important.

"Come in. Would you, uh, like a drink? I have some more wine, if you want."

"That'd be nice," Blaine says, perching himself on the edge of the sofa. This makes Kurt laugh, seeing Blaine look as nervous as he feels.

"Y'know," Kurt says, pausing in the doorway, "you can sit further back than that. My sofa has never been known to eat people. Only pens and coins."

Blaine laughs and scoots further back, and Kurt goes and pours each of them a glass of wine before coming back and sitting next to Blaine. He hands Blaine his glass and snuggles into the cushions, not really sure what to do next.

And then they're kissing. Kurt's not entirely certain hoy they made the switch form sitting there, looking at each other and thinking about how to initiate a kiss, to actually kissing, but they did, and he moves his lips eagerly against Blaine's, feeling just about ready to drown in the feelings they elicit from him.

Blaine makes a small whimpering sound as he pulls Kurt closer so that he sits in Blaine's lap. Kurt works his tongue into Blaine's mouth and they kiss for several moments, long, languid, heated kisses that last and last and last.

Kurt is trailing his mouth lazily along Blaine's neck and jaw when there is the faint sound of a key turning in the lock and the door opens.

Kurt sits up, eyes wide, and Blaine turns towards the door as a tall, blond-haired man walks in. He takes a step backwards when he notices Kurt and Blaine on the sofa.

"Dean," Kurt says, his voice carefully controlled, "what the hell are you doing here?"

"I came to collect a few things I left here," Dean says, still just looking at Kurt. "I just moved, and I realised you still had a bunch of my books and things."

"I knew I should have changed the locks," Kurt mutters. To Dean, he says, "And you didn't think to ask me _first_?"

"I did. I spent most of yesterday morning trying to call you. You ignored me." Dean glances at Blaine, eyes flicking to the red marks along his jaw. "I guess you were busy. You moved on quickly."

Kurt scoffs. "It's been three months, Dean, might I remind you? You moved on much quicker than I did."

"There was still no need to ignore me."

"And there was no need to _cheat_ on_ me_." Dean inhales sharply in a hiss. "Look," Kurt says, "just get the things you came for and leave, please. As you may have worked out, I'm on a date wth my boyfriend."

Dean just stares for a second longer, then nods stiffly and walks out towards Kurt's bedroom.

"How does he know where his stuff is?" Blaine asks. "Is he just gonna wander around for a while until he finds it all?"

"Oh, it should be pretty easy for him," Kurt says. Dean stalks out into the front room again before Kurt can say any more, and leaves after a short, terse goodbye. A piece of paper flutters down from the pile of books and DVDs in his arms as the door closes. Kurt swoops down from Blaine's lap and scoops it up, showing it to Blaine.

"I left a note, after all," he says with a smirk. Blaine laughs and Kurt leans forward to capture his lips in another kiss, but Blaine turns his head to one side, dodging Kurt's mouth.

"No, come on," he says, "we need to talk. Your ex-boyfriend just burst in here unannounced and I barely knew he existed. We should talk about that."

"I really don't like to talk about what happened with Dean," Kurt says quietly, feeling small and incredibly guilty for – not_ lying_ to Blaine, exactly, but he certainly never told him the whole truth. "It was a low point, even for me."

"Oh, Kurt, I don't mind, sweetheart," Blaine says, smoothing his hand over Kurt's back in a placating sort of gesture. "If you really don't want to talk about it, we won't, but I think we should at least try."

Kurt sighs, but he can't argue with Blaine's logic. He slips off of Blaine's lap onto the sofa, and Blaine wraps an arm around his waist as Kurt explains how he and Dean met and how they fell apart.

"The stupidest thing was, he cheated on me, but he also dumped me. I wanted to stay, to try and fix things, but...whatever stupid student he was sleeping with was clearly more interesting."

Blaine tightens his arm around Kurt's waist and nuzzles his face against the crook of Kurt's neck, kissing it softly.

"I can't imagine anyone more interesting than you," he murmurs.

Kurt strokes his fingers in dizzying circles on Blaine's knee as Blaine rests his head on Kurt's shoulder, lips still brushing softly at his neck, and he tells Blaine everything: he tells the story of how he came out, and how he nearly went straight back in the closet when he dated Brittany. He tells Blaine about Karofsky, the bullying, the kiss, and then Dave's announcement that he was in love with Kurt.

"What did you do?" Blaine asks, murmuring the words into Kurt's skin.

"I couldn't...I couldn't have gone out with him," Kurt says quietly. His words are barely a whisper as they are cocooned in darkness. "I'd forgiven him for everything that he'd done, but for a relationship you need trust and there'd always be that fear at the back of my mind, you know?"

"Yeah, I know."

"So I told him no. He said he loved me, but he wanted to be in love more than anything else. I was just convenient, because I was the only gay guy he knew. And it was okay, but someone from his school saw him with me and pieced things together..."

Blaine seems to understand what Kurt is going to say before he manages to force the words out of his mouth.

"He...?"

"Yeah. But he was okay, his dad found him in time. I visited him in the hospital a lot and we've kept in touch." Kurt shrugs. "It's all just stuff that happens, and now we're stronger because of it."

Kurt falls silent, thinking, and Blaine leaves him to it, rubbing soothing circles on his hip. After a few moments, Kurt shakes his head as if to clear his mind, and continues to speak, telling Blaine about Chandler, who'd been sweet and had made him feel special, but wasn't what he was looking for; and about his boyfriends in college: Alex, who threw things; James, who won fifty dollars from three of his friends after he broke up with Kurt; Isaac and Ryan and Jason, all of whom turned out to be not quite as perfect as they first appeared.

Once Kurt has finished, Blaine waits for a while, as if expecting Kurt to continue, and then he takes a deep breath and starts to speak.

First, he explains how he ended up at Dalton in the first place, something that Kurt has never thought to question – he fits in so well with the other former Warblers that Kurt has always simply assumed that Blaine was always part of the private school system like Wes and the others. But he was at Westerville High in his Freshman year, when he came out at the same time as a friend of his. They decided to go to the school's Sadie Hawkins Dance together – as friends, as a show of solidarity. A group of thugs attacked them in the parking lot whilst they were waiting to be picked up.

Kurt can't help but press his hand hard against his mouth, feeling sick, but Blaine seems calm: it's just something else that happened, and something else that made him stronger.

Like Kurt, Blaine has little to say about his time in high school in terms of romance. There was a boy, Sebastian, in his Junior year, but they both wanted such different things (Blaine, a relationship; Sebastian, sex) that they never really worked as a couple. Neither of them was willing to back down, and so their flirtation never amounted to anything more.

"When I started college I wanted to...I don't know, rebel. Or maybe celebrate getting out of Ohio. I had a lot of...not-quite relationships my Freshman year."

"Didn't we all?" Kurt asks wryly.

Blaine laughs. "But it got...not boring, exactly, but I started wanting more again after a while. I dated a few people during the last three years, but I never really clicked with any of them. And since then...I have dated more than my fair share of weirdos, none of whom lasted very long. I even went out with Blonde Robert once or twice."

"Trust me, I know_ exactly_ why he didn't last," Kurt says with a low laugh which Blaine returns before turning serious again.

"A few of the guys were around for a bit longer, but I've never had a relationship that's lasted more than a few months. I don't want to settle for less than love, you know?" Blaine says. "And none of them ever liked that I'm a musician. At first, they thought it was cool, it was _sexy, _but once they realised I'm probably not gonna do anything special any time soon, they started sniping at me: it's a waste of time; you're never going to get anywhere; why don't you get a proper job; all the same things my dad always tells me." Kurt grips Blaine's hand, squeezing tight. "The guys at the café always it's my fault when a relationship ends because I'm always the one doing the dumping, but...why should I settle? Why should I stay with someone who doesn't understand the most basic thing about me?"

"You're perfect," Kurt whispers, kissing Blaine. "You're perfect exactly how you are. I'm never saying goodbye to you."

Blaine leans forwards and captures Kurt's lips again.

"Do you think," he whispers, the words vibrating in the air between their mouths, "do you think it's possible to fall in love with someone in three weeks?"

"I don't know," Kurt replies. "But I think you can get close. God knows I have."

"Don't you think it's too fast? We've only been out three times."

Kurt shrugs a little. "Sometimes you can't put a time frame on things. They just happen, and then you're along for the ride."

Blaine smiles, his lips still on Kurt's so that Kurt feels the movement rather than sees it. "I could get used to that. If it was with you."

* * *

><p><em><strong>From: Mercedes<strong>_

_Hey, Kurt, sorry I haven't texted you before now. It's been insane this week._

_**To: Mercedes**_

_No, don't worry. How are you? How did it go with Wes?_

_**From: Mercedes**_

_It was amazing. I really, really like him, Kurt._

_**To: Mercedes**_

_I'm so happy for you, Mercedes. I hope this works out for you._

_**To: Mercedes**_

_But you live in Chicago, and he's in NY..._

_**From: Mercedes**_

_I know. But I have an audition._

_**To: Mercedes**_

_OK? That's great, but you never normally tell me about auditions. You always wait until you've got a part._

_**From: Mercedes**_

_My audition's in NY._

Kurt calls Mercedes immediately.

"What?" he says, as soon as she picks up. "What's the audition for?"

Mercedes laughs. "They're bringing Chicago back, oddly enough," she says. "I think they want me to try for Mama Morton, but I'm not sure."

"It doesn't matter, that's amazing!" Kurt says excitedly. "And it's in New York? Broadway?"

"Of course."

"That's brilliant! So you'll be here for a while, if you get the part?"

"Yeah, a six-month stint, they said. Maybe a bit longer."

"So you get to see Wes, right?"

"I will. He, uh...he asked me to stay with him if I get the part."

Kurt is silent for a moment, listening to Mercedes' slow, even breaths and thinking.

"Do you want to?" he asks eventually.

"Yes. I mean, I know it's fast and we've only -"

"Then do it," Kurt says, interrupting her. "Now, what song are you going to audition with?"

* * *

><p>On Friday night, Kurt glances down at the pile of papers in front of him, then across at the even larger pile in his in-tray, and sighs, kneading his forehead with the knuckles of his left hand. It's about eight o'clock, still just light outside with the sun painting the sky pink and orange as it begins to dip below the horizon. Kurt, however, is several hours from bedtime: he's barely halfway done, and the piles in front of him seem to just keep growing.<p>

A light knock on the door makes him look up.

"Yes?"

Blaine pokes his head around the door, grinning.

"What are you doing here?" Kurt asks. "How did you get in?"

"Quinn let me in on her way out," Blaine replies simply. And you're coming home with me, now."

"I can't." Kurt sighs. "How did you even know I'd be here, anyway?"

"I called Santana." Blaine shrugs, as if this should not be news to Kurt.

"I didn't know you and Santana were so friendly. Why were you calling her?"

Blaine laughs – a little nervously, Kurt thinks. "You'll probably find out in the next week or so," he says.

"You're not saying any more, are you?" Kurt says with a wry smile.

"Nope," Blaine says. "Now come on, grab your jacket."

"No, I can't, I've got all this to do."

Blaine clucks his tongue. "I asked Quinn on my way in. She said everything you're doing can wait until tomorrow." He looks at Kurt, eyes wide and appealing, a slight pout on his lips. "Please?"

"No, I really need to get on with this."

"Please? Don't you want to see me?"

"No, of course I do..."

"Then come on!" Blaine says, tugging on Kurt's arm and pulling him close. He looks up at Kurt through his eyelashes. "You need to take breaks and go home at a reasonable hour to be more productive. Please?" he says again, brushing his lips against Kurt's.

"Okay," Kurt murmurs. "Okay. Just give me a second." He picks his jacket up of off the back of his chair and follows Blaine out of the room, flicking off the lights behind him.

* * *

><p>"This is beautiful," Kurt says as he steps inside Blaine's apartment, because, honestly, it <em>is. <em>It's nothing like Kurt's flat, clean and uncluttered, all clear, defined lines. There are pictures on Blaine's mantelpiece, ornaments lining the bookcase; he has the kind of knick-knacks that Kurt's never had the time to acquire. Anything he'd had decorating his apartment was Dean's, or a gift from Dean, and Kurt threw them all out after the Naked Coach Guest Incident. Now, his apartment is bare; he's been getting used to it, but seeing Blaine's home – even just this one room – has made Kurt miss the cluttered, welcoming air of his father's house in Ohio, where there are pictures on every sideboard and all his finger-paintings from kindergarten still sit in boxes in the attic.

"It's nothing special," Blaine says, shrugging. "Not as nice as your place."

"It's lovely," Kurt insists. "It feels like it's actually been lived in." Kurt's apartment really hasn't been. It's cold and even now, when he actually sleeps in his bed every night, it's missing something important.

"Thank you," Blaine says, smiling, but looking at Kurt as if he's a little worried about the direction of his thoughts. Kurt makes sure to smile extra-brightly back at Blaine; he's just had some sort of minor epiphany about how lonely he used to be, sure, but he's certainly not lonely anymore, and Blaine is a big part of the reason why.

Blaine sits on the couch, motioning for Kurt to sit beside him. "I'm afraid I'm a really awful cook and I'd rather not poison you, so...take-out?"

"Sounds good," Kurt says. "But now we have to pick what to have."

"I was thinking Thai, perhaps? There's a great place round the corner that delivers."

"Perfect," Kurt says.

Blaine stands up and rummages in a pile of papers on the table for a menu, spreading it out in front of them when he unearths it. "Pick whatever you like."

They spend ten minutes or so pouring over the menu, deciding on the best combination of things they both want to try, and then Blaine goes to place their order, grinning at Kurt as he chats to the man on the other end of the line like he's an old friend. Of course he does; Blaine seems to have a miraculous ability to charm everyone he meets. God knows it worked on Kurt.

They watch a little TV whilst they wait for the food to arrive. Kurt keeps sneaking sideways glances at Blaine; whenever he does, he finds Blaine already looking at him, eyes smoulderingly intent and his lashes lowered, casting faint shadows on his cheeks. Kurt opens his mouth to ask why Blaine is staring at him, but the doorbell rings and Blaine jumps up to answer it before he gets a chance.

They eat mostly in silence, interrupted only by occasional sarcastic comments about the programme they are watching and a smattering of conversation. Blaine chuckles every time Kurt says something especially bitchy, smiling between forkfuls of food as if it is the funniest thing he's ever heard. When they finish, he turns to Kurt, looking serious and a little nervous.

"So," he says. "Going well so far?"

Kurt rolls his eyes – fondly, of course; Blaine's sweet-natured desire for everything to be perfect is just _too_ endearing sometimes. "Of course," he says, looking directly at Blaine. "We've done this before, after all, and I love spending time with you. I don't get to do it anywhere near as much as I'd like."

Blaine smiles softly. "I'm glad you're having a good time." He wraps both his arms around Kurt's waist, rubbing the side of one index finger up and down against Kurt's ribs.

"I always have a good time with you," Kurt whispers. Blaine simply looks at him for a long moment before leaning forward at the same time as pulling Kurt impossibly closer and letting their lips brush together in a kiss.

One kiss leads to a string of others. These touches seem different to the others they've shared so far: they are both more confident now, they relationship has progressed astoundingly far given the limited time they've had to spend together, and so the awkward edge of uncertainty has disappeared like stars vanishing with the sunrise. They separate, gasping slightly from lack of oxygen, and curl up together in the corner. Blaine tips his head back to rest it against Kurt's neck; Kurt traces nonsensical patterns on the back of Blaine's hand.

"It's getting late," he comments some time later – perhaps it's been five minutes, perhaps five hours; he has no way of knowing how long they have sat there, curled up around each other. "Almost eleven."

"Don't wan' you to go," Blaine mumbles lazily.

"I won't," Kurt promises. "Maybe...maybe we should go to bed."

Blaine jerks his head up. "Yeah?" he says, looking at Kurt searchingly. Kurt knows this is not about rejection, about 'wanting to' or 'not wanting to'; Blaine is so eager his skin thrums with it, but Kurt can see him work to dampen it – probably so that he doesn't scare Kurt off, which by this point is ridiculous. Sweet, though.

No, Blaine is asking because he understands that this requires trust on Kurt's part, and because he needs Kurt to understand that it's the same for him.

Kurt does.

"Yeah," he says in answer, smiling softly.

"Okay, then." Blaine smiles back as he twines his fingers around Kurt's and they make their way hand-in-hand to his bedroom.


End file.
